


March of the Forgotten

by HappyBirddi



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bug Politics, Character Study, Daddy Issues, Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Hollow Knight gets a name later, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Minor bug blood, Minor bug gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Post-Embrace the Void Ending (Hollow Knight), Quirrel is fine guys, Recovery, Spoilers, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28744206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyBirddi/pseuds/HappyBirddi
Summary: The Infection has gone quiet in the tunnels of Hollownest and Little Ghost has vanished. Suspicious that something else lays on the horizon, Hornet searches for the small vessel in hopes for answers.The Hollow Knight's chains have been broken at last, but they are far from free. Desperate to find the Pale King, they go off alone to rejoin their father's side.Something dark lurks below the earth, something ancient that once lay waste to the land of Hollownest. Now awake, a new shadow risks consuming what remains of the ruined kingdom.What lay dead so long ago rises up once more, now only the forgotten remain to stand against it.(Another post-void, everyone lives AU cause the children deserve it)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 178





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Ah geez, oh boy here we go  
> I'm a huge fan of Hollow Knight, and while I have been mainly working on a Fire Emblem Three Houses fic, I decided to try my hand at something for Hollow Knight for fun.
> 
> Inspirations for this are Shade and Shell by xensilverquill, Yours to Inherit by McAlli, and Threadcutter by CourierNew. Highly recommend reading those, they are beautifully written.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this take on a post-embrace the void fic

•⊰ Overture ⊱•

* * *

How is it a butterfly knows when the time is right to stretch its wings and fly? How does a bee know who the queen it is meant to serve is? How is it a wyrm knows that it is meant to hold others into its rule from the moment it breaks free from its shell? There are things in this world that one simply cannot learn by the tutor of another, but are imprinted upon from the moment their eyes open and take their first breath.

Such goes the beginning of the vessels born in the darkness. The moment they open their eyes, they seemingly know nothing but reflexes towards danger. They knew how to walk, how to jump, and how to turn their heads towards noises that echoed in the empty cavern. After all, even an infant pulled fresh from the womb will flinch at a sudden sound, an instinct seemingly branded upon the moment it takes its first breath, though they are otherwise defenseless. These things were nothing but lost in this cold, suffocating trench, defenseless and alone, purposeless. But at the top of this gaping darkness, there was light. Their empty eyes were drawn to the brightness above, a sign of salvation. They were drawn to it and desperately began to claw their way to the top out of instinct like a child to its mother’s warmth.

One of them fell several times trying, their hands scraping against cold, black stone to desperately reach the top. Their other siblings were unable to hold on, and many of them plummeted back towards the darkness. Worse were the ones who fell atop the platforms, and splintered into pieces that could not be put back together. Their beings snuffed out and returned to the void they came from before they could even find salvation.

One of them kept going, however, only focused on survival and not detoured by witnessing their fallen siblings. They did not want to be taken back to that pit, they wanted to survive. They refused to give up and clawed up higher and higher. They were so far from the ground now, the air somehow fresher and cleaner the further it climbed, the light closer and brighter with every step taken. When there was nothing more to grab onto, they were so close that they could almost reach out and touch it.

With little else to do now that they had come so far, they jumped. Nothing but the air to catch them and the inky blackness beneath to sink into. It didn’t know much at that moment, but it knew enough that if it fell now, it would never get a chance to hold that salvation and begged silently for something to catch its fall. 

Their feet suddenly found solid ground. Not like the cold stone or discarded shells of the fallen, but it was cool and smooth and echoed with its steps. The light was right in front of them, white and blinding, warm and comforting even. Then something moved into focus, a figure tall and proud that looked down on them. The light that came from them was different, a cold contrast even, but there was life beneath the dark eyes that studied the thing that had climbed from beneath the abyss. This figure, this creature was beautiful and powerful in a way as the light reflected from their pointed crown and white robes, it compelled this empty thing to follow without making a noise.

“No mind to think,” It spoke, a voice mighty that echoed against the empty walls, “No will to break, no voice to cry suffering. Born of God and Void, you shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams. You are the Vessel. You are the Hollow Knight.”

They watched as the figure turned and walked towards the brightness, but as they followed they heard a soft shuffle of fabric sound ring out. They turned to see that one of the others had climbed this far and stared at them with empty eyes silently asking for aid. They felt compelled to answer that request, to be the one to catch them as surely they feared the dark as they did. 

They did not want the darkness to eat more of their siblings.

But then the pale figure stared back at them, waiting. A force that sang loud enough to drown out their sibling’s quiet pleas. They turned their back and followed the pale figure, going towards the brightness as the door closed behind it with a final reverberation.

“Do not look back,” The pale figure stated, their back turned away from the door, “Our pure vessel has ascended. Beyond lies only the refuse and regret of its creation. We shall enter that place no longer… no cost is too great for matters such as this.”

However, as empty as this thing called a knight was, they thought that the voice did not match such words.

༻❁༺


	2. Chapter One: Farewell

•⊰ Chapter One ⊱•

༺  Farewell  ༻

Hornet

────────⊹⊱ꕥ⊰⊹────────

The Abyss truly seemed bottomless to Hornet the longer she watched it. Despite knowing that it wasn’t, she grew doubtful that there was an end to the deep pitch that stared back at her. If time stood still in Hollownest, then it truly did not seem to exist here. There was no wind in this place, the air seemingly frozen to a standstill, but the thick black seemed to breathe regardless. It seemed to suck what little warmth the open entrance let in, greedily eating away at all sound and life until Hornet felt a chill settle through her cloak.

She dared not get any closer to the edge then she already had managed, though it wasn’t the fear of falling that kept her at bay. Regardless of the darkness and in spite of how empty it seemed, this place gave off a feeling of unease. As if something was watching her from below, waiting for an unfortunate, breathing soul to fall into its jaws to devour.

As she watched the darkness, a faint light began to ascend from the void. At first, she thought she was seeing things in the casm, but the light began moving erratically, growing larger and closer to the top. Instinctively, she placed a hand over her weapon, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

A small form began to take shape, one with distinct horns and carrying a lantern that was more recognizable. Hornet relaxed somewhat, holding her nail with more ease as the Little Ghost’s feet touched down on the metal platform.

Hornet looked them over; though they seemed the same, there was something different to their stance. A sternness that wasn’t there before. Even the scent they carried was different, or rather, a lack of it. The Void devoured everything from sound to warmth, even the scent a bug would carry.

Nothing could escape but here stood the Ghost unharmed and seemingly unaffected, as well as their small red companion that rested between its horns. The small Grimm child, if the name that whispered through the tunnels were to be trusted, simply cooed out incomprehensible words and was also, seemingly, unharmed.

The little vessel stared up at the warrior, likely surprised to see that she had followed them, as if what they had done were not believed to be impossible by a living creature.

“Ghost,” She straightened, attempting to hide her relief at seeing them, “I see you’ve faced the place of your birth, and now drape yourself in the substance of its shadow.”

They stared at her, unresponsive as usual.

Hornet tightened her grip on her weapon, “Though our strength is born of similar source, that part of you, that crucial emptiness, I do not share.”

She sighed a bit, the cold air stinging at her throat, “Funny then, that such darkness gives me hope. Within it, I see the chance of change. A difficult journey you would face, but a choice it can create; prolong our world’s stasis, or face the heart of its infection.”

The Little Ghost was still, silent as usual. But they almost seemed contemplative in their silence as their choice weighed upon their shoulders, the only sound in the air being that of the Grimm child’s occasional mewls.

Could this thing even comprehend the heaviness of such a choice?

“I’d urge you to take that harder path. But what end may come, the decision rests with you.” Hornet said, grimly.

The Little Ghost did not respond, staring up at the warrior with hollow eyes. Hornet felt a sting of frustration, unable to read what this creature, this  _ thing _ , unable to gauge if it could even think for itself.

_ It faced the void and ascends unscathed. Could it unite such vast darkness…? _

The ghost walked forward, moving past her with their companion by their side. She did not watch them leave, listening to the soft pad of their footsteps. However, they did not move far before stopping and walking behind her.

Hornet turned to the small ghost, on guard as the vessel seemingly searched for something in its cloak. A moment later, they held up a small, pale flower in their tiny hands.

She was stunned, to say the least, “What is this for? I have no desire to weigh myself down with something so delicate as this. We may be of similar source, but we are far from close kin.”

The ghost did not move, simply staring at her with vacant eyes as the grimm child let out a loud cry.

“Take your offerings and leave,” She spoke harshly, “I want nothing from you, vessel.”

They did not move, only waited, like a stubborn child.  _ Was _ this stubbornness? Could an empty vessel even understand such a concept?

Hornet sighed, annoyed but relenting, deciding best to accept. If only so that this thing would leave her alone. Carefully, she reached out her unarmed hand, taking ahold of the delicate plant’s stem and holding it closer for examination.

Though she would never admit it aloud, the flower was a thing of beauty. It’s pale petals seemingly cut through the gloom like a gentle torch, weighing little more than air itself. Not like any flower she had ever seen, and yet… it seemed familiar somehow.

“Where did you even come across something like this…?” She began to ask, but stopped. It would be pointless to ask, as she doubted the vessel could even speak.

The little ghost watched her for a long moment, seemingly content with her accepting their strange gift. 

“Do not think that this makes us more than strangers, little ghost. But I offer my gratitude regardless. I will accept this, but that is all I wish to take from you.”

They nodded, which shocked the warrior. It was the only time they had ever shown any indication that they had listened to her.

Then the Little Ghost promptly turned around and took their leave, the Grimm child gliding close behind. Hornet listened to their footsteps fade until all that was left was the silence in the air.

As she let what happened sink in, as the darkness stood around her, she felt the prick of icy needles at her back. When she spared a glance towards the Abyss below, nothing had changed in terms of scenery. However, the feeling that something was staring back at her, something was waiting for her in the unseen shadows, seemed stronger than ever.

If she let herself wait, would something else crawl out of the shadows?

She huffed, tucking the pale flower into her cloak, secure from being blown away in the wind as she made her own swift exit, urgent to leave this soulless grave and never return.

Hornet dared not risk a look back.

༻❁༺

The Black Egg Temple shared the same emptiness that the Abyss had, though the air was more somber than it was sinister. The Infection was worst here, with orange cysts tainting the building and floor, the sickly sweet scent overpowering and nauseating. It was a lonely piece of their small world, one neglected when the Her influence began to spread through the tunnels, now all but forgotten to time.

Hornet stared up at the sealed door, the three masks acting as its lock untouched. She knew she shouldn’t linger in this place, not so close to the Infection, but she hated the uncertainty of what was to come next. There was little to do but wait for Little Ghost to break the seals, and finally put an end to the stasis over their kingdom.

_ You must’ve been lonely all this time. _

She paused for a beat, unsure why that would come to mind. The Pale King had decreed that the vessel was not alive, that it could not think or speak, could not feel anything. It was an empty shell of a bug without a will for the Infection to take root, not fellow kin.

None of the vessels should’ve been able to feel anything, and yet the delicate flower seemed to form a weight where it rested in Hornet’s cloak.

Vessels were meant to be empty, so why did Hornet once believe a lifetime ago that they weren’t? Back before she learned of what cruelties the world beyond a silver garden held, before she was strong enough to even hold a blade properly. When however brief their encounters were, she looked forward to the time spent honing their skills under the same stern mentor. Before such titles like knight or protector held any meaning to them, and she enjoyed the stoic company they gave.

She shook her head in an attempt to clear out such thoughts. There was little use dwelling on the past when danger lurked in every corner of the present.

_ No will, no mind or voice. Only pity for your cursed kind… _

A flash of light sparked across her vision, accompanied by a sharp stab of pain in the back of her mind. The little warrior let out a gasp at how sudden it came on, pressing a hand to her face.

“What is this-?!” She muttered to the empty temple.

A high-pitched ringing sound filled the room, sharp and painful. But there were no bells anywhere near the Black Egg Temple, none that she found that is.

Drawing her nail, Hornet scanned the area quickly for any approaching enemy, prepared to kill if necessary-

The ground was covered in ash, the wind howled against her face, much like it had not too long ago at the Kingdom’s Edge. But unlike the last time, Hornet could feel the gazes of thousands of eyes watching her.

_ Is this a hallucination? Is this the work of the Infection? _

Standing opposite of this small space, amidst the blades of wind and ash, stood Little Ghost. They watched her silently, carefully, waiting for her to react.

_ Is this a dream? _

The ghostly vessel did not make a move. Her heart pounded against her thorax, her grip painfully tight on her nail.

_ Do they watch us struggle? Do you haunt my dreams, or I yours? Oh, Little Ghost, what dreams we share… _

**_I wish we had more time, Lady Hornet._ **

She froze, “That voice… it couldn’t be-”

**_Farewell, dear sibling. It was an honor to meet you._ **

“What lunacy is this?! Little Ghost-!”

The ringing stopped and the wind grew still. When next she blinked, she stood back again in the Black Egg Temple exactly where she had been before amidst the orange Infection .

Hornet’s stance grew rigid, eyes scanning for a fight and desperate to find an answer to what had just transpired. Had she gone mad? Was this some sort of vision from a higher power? An omen of disaster?

“Little Ghost…” The name hung in the air like a prayer, “Why do you come to me like this?”

No answer came, of course. Nothing but the distant screams that came from the Infected Crossroads beyond.

Hornet shifted to leave, having had enough of this place, but as she began to move forward, she paused in her step. The large orange cysts that had once surrounded the temple had shrunk down considerably, becoming smaller until they disappeared completely before her very eyes. The air, she could no longer smell the sickly sweet odor of the disease, only the stone and water that lay outside. The little warrior looked to the ceiling; the orange-stained roots that covered the temple, the color faded away until all trace of the Infection was gone.

“What sorcery is this?” She gaped softly, wondering now if she really had gone mad.

Suddenly, there was a loud scraping of stone that caused Hornet to jump away. The sealed door to the Black Egg, the only thing that separated the inner chamber from the rest of the world, crumbled and fell apart.

In the darkness of the tomb, there emerged a figure. One that she had only seen memorials of, no longer the small stoic being from a lifetime ago, now an unrecognizable threat.

Hornet drew her weapon.

༻❁༺


	3. Chapter Two: Anguished

•⊰ Chapter Two ⊱•

༺ • Anguished • ༻

Hollow Knight

────────⊹⊱❂⊰⊹────────

_Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel._

They knew this mantra well, the phrase told over and over by their father. They knew it by heart, committed those words as gospel, and repeated it over and over throughout their life. They repeated those words silently as they marched into the Black Egg Temple, their nail in claw and gripped tightly as their final fight approached more and more.

What remained of the king’s five knights accompanied them and their sire as they were locked away. Dryya, so wise and brave. She had taught them to hold the blade properly, honed their abilities to match and eventually surpass her own with enough time and training. They remember the look of pride in their mentor’s face and the laughter from Ogrim and Hegemol. The kind encouragement from Isma, the guidance from Ze’mer before she defected for the sake of love, and steady gaze of approval that came from father.

_Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel._

Time was a blur now. It had been an age since they sensed another living soul outside their prison. Now the only company they had was the constant, burning sensation of Her light squirming beneath their shell. Sometimes her light would flicker, just enough to feel the cold chains and sharp threads locked around their body. It was uncomfortably tight to the degree where the Hollow Knight could only move their neck just a little bit, only enough to see the entryway that had been sealed for… for how long was it now?

It didn’t matter. Her light would come back again and blind away all other sensation, leaving only the searing, blinding light that fought against them. One powerful blow, and a splitting pain spread across their face. They had screamed, the feeling rooting itself deep into their head and throbbing with liquid fire. The scent of sweetness mixed with rot stained the air, and puddles of bright orange infection splattered across the floor. Another blow, and more infection forced its way out of their throat, the taste nauseatingly sweet, accompanied by a wail of fury and pain. Blow after blow, again and again until the pool of infection was large enough to see their chained form in, until their mind blurred and the pain became a cloak.

One more hit and a _crack_ rang out in the air as it threatened to rip itself out of their carapace. They could feel it struggling, fighting to escape, pounding against the thin line of shell that separated it from the world outside.

It burned, it burned so much. It burned the very depths of their core and lingered, eating away at their mind and memories they failed to keep at arms length until they couldn’t fight it anymore.

_Is this death?_

All that was left was, occasionally, a window to the world outside. Images of the world outside their shell that, with enough staring, they could recognize as the crossroads, the heart of Hollownest, the twinkling crystal mines, but all through the eyes of someone else. Someone that the Hollow Knight never saw the face of. Someone they had failed to protect. 

_No… even death would be welcomed at this point._

A permanent reminder of their failure that would never die.

_Tell me._

Her voice trailed up their back and settled at the base of their neck.

_Tell me of the dreams that you hold dear._

They could feel her wings tighten around their shoulders.

_I can make them come true if you only tell me._

Dreams… they had none. A foolish means of trying to distract them.

_Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel._

They remained quiet, their mind an empty plain. Just as they had been told to do. They would not break so easily. Not again.

She did not like being ignored, and the pain returned with vengeance. Their body seized beneath the weight of their restraints and a wail ripped through their shell, a mix of Her anguish and a voice they never realized they had.

_Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel._

There was a soft ringing then, a quiet bell that ran out in their head. It felt as if a part of them was pulled away from their body, free and healed, stronger once more. Then a shape emerged, one with a face like theirs. A familiar ghost from their memories long repressed.

They never forgot that face, despite all the time that had passed and the Pale King telling them to put those feelings aside. Yet, there they were again, haunting them once more.

They should’ve known that this one would come back. It seemed like a fitting punishment that standing on this edge between waking misery and burning dream, She would taunt them with repressed regrets of leaving behind the ones who failed to touch the light above.

The ghost watched the broken knight, no malice behind their black eyes. A chime rang out in their head, a familiar collection of sounds melded into one small voice.

**_It is not your fault, sibling. Now, let go._ **

Bright light flooded the room, and they were pulled back to that familiar, blinding hell. It wrapped tighter and tighter around their body, refusing to let them go as if they were a life line that kept Her tethered to this world. A rage-filled scream filled the air, ringing through the walls and maybe throughout the entire kingdom given how it rattled through the knight’s very body, threatening to rip them apart.

Then nothing.

The burning suddenly went out like an extinguished torch, Her grip vanished and was replaced by a cold, empty feeling. The chains snapped with a sharp ring, and then they were falling. Their body landed unceremoniously against the stone ground with a heavy _thud,_ neglected armor and bindings breaking into pieces.

For a long moment, they remained sprawled across the floor, their breathing coming in quick, shallow gasps. The air tasted stale, but the lingering scent of infection and unbearable fire was gone. Was this a dream? Was this some sort of cruel trick by Her?

Slowly, the Hollow Knight felt a sore throbbing in their chest. It beat in tune of their frantic heartbeat, settling behind their left arm-

They realized, with horror and despair, that their left arm was gone. Completely gone and leaving nothing but an empty cavity that bled dark particles of void. They hadn’t even realized that it was gone.

The Hollow Knight stared, their stomach churning at the sight of the grisly wound. They slid their remaining hand beneath their body, pushing up onto trembling knees and hovering hesitantly over the gaping wound. What were they meant to do with this? What sort of knight could they be with only one arm now?

A hesitant touch at the wound caused them to flinch back, the pain clamping back with anger, spreading deep into their core and causing them to double-over in agony. A pathetic, strangled whimper escaped their throat as dark spots clouded their vision from the shock.

_Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel._

They recited the words until the pain began to ebbe away. Once the worst was over, the feeling numb and disconnected, the Hollow Knight straightened and looked around the temple; the central chamber was wide and empty. The air tasted stale and dusty, specks floating around the air, remnants of broken chains left behind. At the slightest motion, more dust stirred up before them, hovering in the silence for a bit before settling back on the ground.

A glance to their side and the Hollow Knight spotted their nail; stabbed into the ground and rusted from time. They grabbed at the hilt, pulling with as much strength their damaged body could give. With only one arm, it took several attempts before the nail slid from the stone, leaving the knight feeling winded.

Regardless, it was a comfort having the familiar weight in their hand again; it had been a gift from their mentor Dryya, freshly forged with the strongest ore when her teachings had ended. Though, the longer the memory stood before their eyes, hadn’t Dryya taught the empty vessel how to wield it with grace alongside… someone else? Who was that again? Some days their memory had larger gaps in it, leaving only a vague shape of a crimson blur where something else might’ve been once.

They pulled themself to their feet, leaning against the nail for a makeshift crutch, and took a step towards the now open doorway. Without their left arm, the knight’s balance was off. One stumble threw them back to the polished floor, forcing them to stab their nail into the ground to pull themselves back up again and push forward.

They couldn’t stop, they had to keep going.

Their footsteps echoed off the walls of the temple as they scraped through an exit they never thought they’d cross again. Leaning on their weapon for support, they walked through the darkness slowly, slow images appearing across their vision. It felt as if they were still dreaming, mind muddled with sleep as they continued forward; glowing grey runes that lined the temple lit up and faded as they walked by. A stone bench was present, but they didn’t dare stop to rest.

They needed to see what had become of their world beyond these walls, no matter how much their injuries hurt or how heavy the fear of seeing the state of it all weighed on their shoulders.

A light became clearer at the end of the temple, drawing their gaze quickly. A soft breeze brushed against their shell and they risked a long, shuddering breath. The taste of damp stone and wet earth hit them like a wall and the knight froze in their steps, nearly collapsing at the overwhelming scents.

If they were capable of tears, they would’ve wept. They didn’t realize how much they had missed such long forgotten sensations until now.

As they crossed the threshold of the Black Egg Temple and into the dim lantern light, a shape adorn in crimson appeared like a phantom. They tensed, barely having enough time to raise their weapon before a needle slammed against it with a loud clash of metal. Dryya’s training kicked in, and they shoved the enemy back, shifting their hold on their weapon quickly to line against their arm in a defensive stance.

A small pale figure with curved, sleek horns stood opposite of them, black eyes glaring at them, “Take no step further, vessel. I will not hesitate to cut you down.”

The Hollow Knight locked their gaze on their opponent, a dull pain throbbing against the crack in their shell. This voice, the crimson cloak, the scent of silk and glowing fungi, it was familiar. More so than everything else, but this one had a name.

Hornet circled around them slowly, “I know not how you escaped from the seals, but as my sworn duty as this kingdom’s protector, you will _not_ leave this Temple.”

They set their gaze on the warrior, preparing for a fight; she was much smaller than they were, but her stance was that of a seasoned fighter. She was quick too, one misstep and her nail would pierce their throat. But as weak as they were in this broken body, they were the Hollow Knight. They would fight until they couldn’t stand anymore.

The air was tense as the two bugs assessed the other’s position, waiting for the slightest motion to signal a fight. The longer they stood, the heavier their nail seemed to feel in their grip; their limbs ached and the wound where their left arm was once stung in the open air.

Hornet narrowed her eyes at the Hollow Knight, “I see no trace of Her in your eyes… The air is clearer and quieter. Has She been slain?”

The Hollow Knight hesitated, though as dulled as their senses were, they were hopeful. They had not felt Her presence, and all traces of the Infection seemed to vanish.

“Well? Are you able to answer me?” Hornet pointed her needle at their face.

They paused briefly. Then carefully, they gave the little warrior a nod.

Hornet let out a short gasp, though they did not know if it was at the knowledge of Her death or at their ability to respond, but just as quickly she regained composure. 

“This kingdom long fell to the influence of Her disease. How is it that after all this time you were able to slay Her now?”

The Hollow Knight shook their head, though they regretted it immediately as the pain bit back. Unintentionally, their grip faltered and their nail clattered to the ground as their hand shot up to press against the crack in their head.

In a blur of red, the tip of the needle hovered before them, threatening to pierce the wound and split them in two. They froze, daring not to move.

Hornet glowered at the Hollow Knight, “If this is a trick by Her doing, I will not hesitate to slay you where you stand, vessel. If you have any will left or understanding of your position, then you will surrender.”

Unarmed and shaking, the Hollow Knight stared at the weapon as if it were a beast preparing to bite. Not taking their eyes off the tip of the weapon, they slowly took a knee before the little warrior. Their head felt as if it were stuffed with cobwebs, but they hoped that they still had enough strength to stand up straight.

A moment passed as the little warrior assessed them, her stance relaxed somewhat as she deemed them not a threat. At least, not in the moment.

“Very well,” She nodded a little, “Since you seem to understand my words, answer me this; were you the one to slay the Radiance?”

They shook their head slightly, careful not to make the pain any worse.

Hornet met the gaze of the Hollow Knight, “If not you, then do you know who did?”

Again, they shook their head.

The little warrior was quiet for a long moment before she spoke again, “It seems that we are both in the dark to what has happened… Ghost has disappeared, your binds have disappeared, and now the Infection and Her presence, it can’t be just a mere coincidence.”

The Hollow Knight grew still, unable to give an answer to the little warrior.

Hornet looked at them, “If you are able to understand my words, then answer me this; are you to be a threat to this kingdom now that you are unchained?”

They shook their head fervently, the idea ridiculous. To cause harm for Hollownest and its people was blasphemy in itself. They were the Hollow Knight, the Pure Vessel, they were sworn to protect their kingdom.

_But you failed to do that, didn’t you?_

A pit formed in their gut at the thought. The fact they had ideas at all was proof of their failure.

_Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel._

Finally, Hornet withdrew her weapon completely. While she remained guarded in her stance, she at least deemed the knight as safe for the moment.

“The stasis over this land seems to be over, but I cannot shake the feeling that something worse is approaching,” She looked to the light of the doorway that led to the outside of the temple, “Whatever it is though, as sworn protector of this kingdom, I intend to find what it is.”

The Hollow Knight watched her take leave the temple, but she stopped after only a few steps to turn back to their kneeling form.

“Be that Her presence is gone, I would surmise that it will be perilous to travel these tunnels like this. Do you know of the town not far from here called Dirtmouth?”

They shook their head, reaching again for their nail as an aide for standing up again. When they briefly slipped, Hornet jolted and seemed caught between aiding them and drawing her weapon at the sudden movement.

“I suppose it cannot be helped… ” She relented, watching the Hollow Knight regain their footing and start after her.

The two crossed the threshold of the Black Egg Temple, out into the crossroad’s tunnels. The scents of earth and water were stronger now that, while Hornet walked further out, the Hollow Knight stood frozen, letting their senses adjust to the familiar environment.

Had it been so long behind the sealed door that they had almost completely forgotten the terrain of their home and it’s scents?

“I was young when these seals were put in place. Too young to remember the specifics of it all,” Hornet spoke quietly, “But as small as I was, I remember when the citizens of this kingdom would pray at the foot of this temple and the lives given for their peace. I remember offering up my own prayers of thanks… I cannot fathom the idea that you were alive all this time behind those walls.”

The Hollow Knight averted their gaze from hers, though they knew that her words were meant to be somewhat sympathetic, it nonetheless stung.

Hornet looked towards the path before them, “Beyond that road lies a well that leads to the surface and the town called Dirtmouth. There are others residing there, but they are a kind folk who can offer shelter without asking too many questions. You’ll be safe there.”

They stared at the little warrior with disbelief; the advice was charitable, likely as charitable as it was to come from someone so distant, but they were nonetheless ridiculous. As much of a failure as they were, they were still the Hollow Knight. Their loyalty was to their Sire and His kingdom, they were created to serve Him, not to hide.

Father… what became of Him? Surely, He was still alive. He was their king, bright and intelligent.

The Hollow Knight turned, the road behind them one familiar. The same road they had taken when they were to be sealed. Leaning against their nail for support, they began to walk down that road.

“What are you doing?” Hornet asked.

Even if they could answer, they continued forward.

There was a flash of red, and once again the little warrior stood in their path. She seemed confused, but more than that she seemed frustrated as she held her nail by her side.

“Have you no good sense? Do you think that with Her light gone, the danger would be over? The stasis over this kingdom may be over, but there will be unrest to follow. What citizens remain will be wracked with confusion and anger, there will be anarchy and chaos in these tunnels.”

The Hollow Knight moved to go around her, but she matched their steps equally as if their motions were a simple dance.

“Don’t be foolish!” She snapped, “You are in no condition to fight, let alone travel. What do you even hope to accomplish this way?”

They glared at her. _Get out of my way._

Her expression hardened, “If you are hoping to find Him, you will be sorely disappointed. No one has so much heard a whisper of His survival, let alone seen Him. When His people needed Him most, when it became apparent that Her light was returning in full, He abandoned this kingdom and left it to rot.”

_You’re wrong._

“He is nothing but a gutless coward.”

_Shut up._

Hornet pointed her nail at them, “Or are you so blind in your loyalty that you’ve forgotten what He did to you? To your kind? Are you so desperate to please Him that you would throw away what little will you have to serve someone so selfish and cruel?”

Their grip tightened on their nail. She was wrong, He was nothing like how she described. They had marched into this room, their head held high and steady. It was a moment that they knew was to come, had known it would come from the moment they walked from the abyss. They were the Hollow Knight, the Savior of Hollownest. They were prepared for the battle that was to come between them and their father’s sole enemy. The beast called the Radiance that spread her plague across the tunnels of the Pale King’s kingdom. It was their duty to fight for their father, it was what they were created to do.

 _A silver garden away from the rest of the world. Pale lights and symbols that danced in the air, things that a much younger version of themself was so fascinated by and could watch for hours. The calming sound of His voice. Listening to His hopes and dreams for the future. The trust that He put in them to bring such things to fruition and the pride He told them He had for His knight._

Father cared for them. He had kept the Hollow Knight close, and had looked so proud of their progress. His approval, His forgiveness, it would be enough.

They stood their ground, pulling their nail and form into a defensive stand. As injured and broken as they were, they would die for Father. They would fight even her to get to Him.

Hornet was still, but then her gaze hardened and she withdrew her nail, “Fine then. If you desire to get yourself killed so desperately, I won’t stop you. I won’t risk my life to save a fool.”

They watched her carefully as they treaded the ground around her, but she did not strike. The road beyond here was one that led to the White Palace, it was a familiar road that they could reach the end of quickly if they didn’t stop.

As they pressed forward, preparing to enter the tunnel that led deeper into the crossroads, Hornet spoke up one last time.

“Your loyalty is best served elsewhere,” She seemed almost remorseful, “He cares not for anyone but Himself and His ambitions, and will stop at nothing to serve His own means. I hope that if you have any will in that shell of yours, you will remember that and reconsider the side you choose to stand on.”

There came the sound of thread unraveling, followed by silence. When the Hollow Knight spared a glance back, Hornet was gone.

A pang of guilt rang briefly in their carapace, but in spite of it they pressed forward, limping down the familiar road and towards the direction of the White Palace.

_Father… please forgive this failure of a vessel. May your blessings protect this form long enough to rejoin Your side one more time._

༻❁༺


	4. Chapter Three: Conflicted

•⊰ Chapter Three ⊱•

༺ •  Conflicted  • ༻

Hornet

────────⊹⊱ꕥ⊰⊹────────

Though Hornet never spent too long in Dirtmouth, there always came a sense of comfort whenever she stopped there. She never spent more than a moment, though, as her duties were too pressing to risk setting aside for too long.

As she approached the center of the town, angry thoughts and curses still echoed in her mind. How could any creature, willful or not, devote such blind loyalty to anything? Especially to someone so cold and cowardly.

The little warrior sat at the lonely bench that shined dully under the light of a lamp. To the left was the stagstation and to the right lie nothing more than ruins and wasteland. Truly here, in this forgotten town, it seemed as though she stood on the edge of the world with nothing laying beyond its borders.

Out of habit, she reached into her cloak and withdrew the small pouch of tools she kept close and worked to repair things such as the sting shard traps she carried and to sharpen her loyal needle. Though there was little damage to her weapons, there was always the threat that being too careless could result in her death. It was a risk she didn’t dare take.

Her thoughts once again fell on the frustrations of the Hollow Knight; though it had enough of a mind to comprehend basic conversation, how could she be sure that it wouldn’t pose a threat to Hollownest? Even if it was capable of lying, it made it clear where it’s loyalty stood. Would it dispose of the citizens who rebelled against the Pale King now that the Infection was gone? Even if the Pale King was alive after all this time, she doubted that He would risk showing His face to what was left of His “glorious” kingdom.

If He had miraculously survived, would things go back to the way they were? Or would a new, darker dawn fall upon this shattered kingdom? Whatever happened, she swore no loyalty to the Pale King. Though He was her father, she would not kneel for anyone capable of the cruel actions that led to the downfall of her home or side with anyone blind to His actions.

When the work was done and as she withdrew her tools, her claws found the soft, delicate petals of the flower Little Ghost had gifted her.

Carefully, she withdrew the plant and held it in her hands; in the soft light of the lamps, the petals glowed ever so slightly. As small as it was, there came a sense of comfort that felt familiar to the little warrior.

Why it felt familiar though… her memories came up empty.

_ The vessels are empty. Their loyalty is blind to Him. They have no will, it isn’t possible. Surely, it’s foolish to think otherwise… _

At least, she had been led to believe that they were empty. But He was wrong about that too, the proof lay in shambles all around her. What else had He miscalculated?

_ Little Ghost. Hollow Knight. The fallen vessels. All of them believed to be a husk of a bug. But what changed to make you less so? _

“Oh! You came back!”

Hornet’s attention shot up, her hands reaching for her weapon. But she stopped upon seeing the face of an elderly bug. She had seen him before, briefly, during her patrol back and forth from the edge of the kingdom, but never stopped to speak to him.

“You’ve always walked straight past me and descended down into the ruins without even speaking. I thought maybe I’d been seeing a ghost this whole time. The mind sometimes plays tricks on you when you spend a lot of time alone.”

She stood up from the bench, holding her nail at her side, “I’ve never been one to stop long enough for pleasant conversations.”

“Rarely anyone is these days,” He spoke solemnly, “Always interested more in what lies beyond that well, never to be seen again. Regardless, I go by Elderbug to travelers. I hope you aren’t too disappointed by our little town. Though it’s now a solemn place, once we were much more welcoming.”

Hornet glanced to the ruins of Dirtmouth, “Same to be said of the kingdom below. All that remains of anything now is decaying ruins and lost memories.”

“Bah, that does little to dissuade travelers foolish enough to risk going beyond that well…” Elderbug shook his head, “You are one of the rare few I have seen to return time and time again.”

She held her needle close, “I do not seek senseless glory or wealth like so many others. Mine is a task that bears a heavy promise to be fulfilled. I would die to achieve it, but to do so would be a pointless waste.”

The old bug squinted at her, “Such a burden for someone so young as yourself… forgive me if I don’t understand it completely.”

She shook her head, “I don’t expect you to, sir.”

_ The ones who could are long dead and have left me behind. Easier not to explain it again. _

Elderbug’s gaze fell to the flower in her grip, “Hm? What’s that you have there?”

She looked down to the delicate flower, “Merely a small token gifted by an acquaintance. I have no use for it though.”

“Ah, that beautiful flower!” Elderbug exclaimed eagerly, “Could it be that you have also come across the little ghost?”

She froze, “What?”

The older bug reached into his cloak, and after a few moments of fumbling, he produced an identical pale flower.

“Where did you get this?” She asked, her voice strained.

“It was a gift from the little ghost that comes here so often,” Elderbug explained, “They are not one for conversation, a rather stoic individual but far from cold and distant. This was a gift from them not too long ago.”

“Impossible,” Her thoughts were twisting into knots, “It shouldn’t be capable of things like thoughts or concerns for others.”

Elderbug tilted his head, confused, “What makes you say so? Have you come across the little ghost before?”

“I have. Many times at that. They are a resilient one, but I never knew them to be one to be capable of giving sentimental gifts.”

“Hm, neither did I at first,” He hummed, “But little did I know that one young bug took my words to heart and repaid it with such a beautiful gift. As small as such a gesture is, it does make the world seem a little less faded.”

Hornet was stunned, unable to find a response; yes, she could accept that these vessels had a will of some kind, but not a will capable of generosity or kindness.

_ No mind to think. No will to break. No voice to cry suffering. _

Little Ghost, so small and stoic and seemingly without thought. She had cut down others like them, the ones that escaped the Abyss and fell to the lure of Her light. They weren’t alive, they were nothing but empty shells, that was the justification for ending each of them.

But then, holding their small form as she narrowly escaped the crushing weight of the Wyrm’s corpse, they had seemed so tiny and vulnerable. She could’ve ended them there, or left them to be killed.

Why then, did they continue to appear in her thoughts? The vision, the flower, those words… why?

“You bear a resemblance to the little one now that I think of it… are you perhaps their family?”

She tightened her grip on the flower a bit, “We are not kin…”

The older bug shrugged a bit, “Ah, my mistake. It was wrong of me to assume such things. But if you do come across the little one at some point in your travels, do tell them that this old bug enjoys their company and hopes that they come back sometime soon.”

“When did they last come here?” She asked, her voice tight.

Elderbug was thoughtful, “Hm, when indeed? It wasn’t too long ago, I think. They gifted me this flower and then made their way to the Stag Station.”

Hornet straightened, “I must take my leave now. But… I will remember your request if the time comes.”

Elderbug nodded, “Thank you, kind lady. May you have safe travels.”

The little warrior moved quickly, giving Elderbug a brief nod before dashing back towards the Stag Station. She had never traveled the stagways much before the fall of Hollownest, only traveling from Deepnest to the White Palace and sometimes to the Queen’s Gardens. Whenever she did go anywhere, she was never without a guard or escort as per the request of her mother before she went to sleep.

Regardless of Hornet being little more than the Pale King’s bastard child, her life still held value to Him enough where he didn’t risk harm coming upon her, even long after she learned to fight.

The elevator clattered as she rode down onto the platform, and being in a hurry she jumped off the lift before it had come to a complete stop. She rang the bell at the edge of the platform and, after a rumble of feet against the earth, an old stag appeared and came to a stop before her.

“Greetings there, traveler!” The old beetle had a rough, but chipper voice, “For a moment, when I heard the ringing of the station bell, I thought it was by someone else.”

Hornet looked up at the old bug, “You are referring to the Little Ghost, yes? The small knight with horns?”

“Ahh, yes. I see you are familiar with them,” They grunted, “I’ve yet to see them again, but I listen carefully for the ring of the next bell.”

“What was their last stop?” She asked, holding the flower close to her chest.

The old stag looked to her curiously, “You seek the little one then?”

“In a way, yes. If you can take me there, I would be grateful.”

“That flower you’re carrying,” He looked to the delicate plant, “The little ghost had a similar one. It’s quite beautiful, but also very delicate. I fear if you travel with me it will be ruined.”

She looked to the flower, and for a moment she considered tossing such a useless token aside for the sake of time. But, looking at the glowing petals longer, there was a lump that formed in her chest at the idea of casting it away like garbage.

_ It wasn’t garbage to them…  _

“I mean to travel on foot,” she stated, “There is much ground to cover, and traveling the stagways now could take me right past the little one if I’m not careful.”

The old stag nodded, “I understand, traveler. As for their last stop, I believe it was the King’s Station.”

All the way down into the city ruins. It was a long journey, but one that she knew well. Why go there at all, she wondered. There was nothing but flooded canals and soiled books now.

She wondered if the Hollow Knight had managed to travel far in their state, or if they had already been slain by an enemy of sorts. The injuries she had seen looked gruesome, but the Hollow Knight had been trained to fight the Radiance.

_ It doesn’t matter. If they are so desperate to pursue such a fruitless quest, then I won’t risk my own life to stop them. _

Hornet slipped the flower into her cloak, “I give you my thanks, old stag. Perhaps soon, I will travel through these tunnels again.”

The old stag chuckled, “I will listen closely for the time you ring the bell, traveler.”

“Hornet,” She said, “My title is Hornet.”

“Very well, lady Hornet,” the old stag nodded slightly, “May you have a safe journey and find the little one.”

_ If they are still alive. _

No, she shoved the idea aside as she retreated back towards the lift. They wouldn’t die so easily, not after all they had survived through.

She prayed, at least, that that was true.

༻❁༺


	5. Chapter Four: Astray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Some minor bug gore with infected injuries

•⊰ Chapter Four ⊱•

༺ • Astray • ༻

Hollow Knight

────────⊹⊱❂⊰⊹────────

The crossroads were eerily quiet. Not a single soul came across the Hollow Knight’s path as they stubbornly pressed forward, only the occasional crawlid and tiktik that frantically skittered out of their way as one foot treaded after the other.

Too stubborn and determined to even stop, they had no real sense of direction. Perhaps it was the weariness or confusion, or perhaps it had been so long that the very earth had changed, but nothing about their road seemed familiar. Each tunnel seemed to be identical to the last with no distinguishing markings.

Set adrift with no direction, they should’ve stopped. But to stop, the Hollow Knight feared that they would be unable to get up again.

It was getting harder to keep going despite it not being too long leaving the Black Egg Temple; their legs were trembling the more they walked, constantly stumbling over rocks or shallow holes in the path. It had been so long since the last time the Hollow Knight was able to stand on their own legs, and the overdue time spent chained away had taken a toll on their body. Their muscles and joints ached with every stiff motion, as if they were dragging along a boulder with each step.

As they took another step, their foot caught on a pothole in the road, causing them to stumble forward. With only one arm occupied holding their nail, they lurched forward, losing their footing on the loose gravel and tumbling down a sharp incline. They landed painfully against the stony crevasse, smashing what remained of their left shoulder against a jagged rock in the road. There was a wet crack and a searing heat shot through their carapace.

They let out a sharp gasp, and when they tried to move to stand up again, a high-pitched, ragged wail tore through their throat and echoed against the empty walls as their body seized in pain from the motion. The Hollow Knight choked down the stale air in quick, desperate gulps. _Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do_ not _feel. Get up you fool, you are the Hollow Knight._

Blinking through the pain, their sight set on a wooden archway less than a few feet away. Beyond that, they could see the faint glow of pale pink. Though they had never taken a step into the crystal mines of Hollownest, they were certain that this was one of the entrances to the caverns. 

They pushed themselves to their knees, grabbing their nail with their remaining hand, the Hollow Knight more or less dragged themself into the shallow tunnel. Slowly, the rosy glow of the crystals buried deep in the walls beyond grew brighter. As they strained themself forward, the shimmering stones grew larger and more pronounced.

Unable to move too far, the Hollow Knight carefully moved down into a shallow alcove beneath a set of ruined cart tracks, where the only thing there were a few stray crystal shards and the lone corpse of one of the former miners. Occasionally, a tiktik or crawlid would appear from the cracks in the walls and move upwards, but their presence made the Hollow Knight think of this small alcove as more of an open grave rather than short refuge. 

They pressed their back against a wall, the pain in their side a still sharp throb, and allowed themself to rest their aching muscles for at least a moment.

The wound where their left arm had once been was proving to be a bigger problem the longer they neglected it. They turned to one of the stray crystals, meeting their own gaze in it’s burnished surface. Using their remaining hand, they shifted part of their cloak aside to better assess the damage in the gem’s reflection.

Where the infection had once been was now an open, gaping wound. The carapace was ragged, and large void particles drifted from the laceration and into the stale air. Bracing themself for the stinging pain again, they gingerly pressed their cloak to the injury. Once more, the lesion stung violently, but when they pulled their hand back their palm was slick with thick, void-sullied cruor.

While the Hollow Knight had no concept of how much time had passed, even they knew that this was an injury left to fester for far too long. Their whole arm was gone, and with their mind so fixated on battling Her, what remained had been poisoned by neglect. They were born of God and Void, but they still had a shell that could break if too much damage became of them, and leaving an open wound exposed to a potential enemy could send them to a swift grave.

Whenever the Hollow Knight had been injured during sparring, there was always a soul totem not far off to replenish energy to use to heal. Father would also heal their wounds when He watched their lessons, all with a mere gesture. It was a power truly only a god could wield with such perfection.

Alas, Father was not there and there were no soul totems. They felt drained of energy, all of it used long ago during their war against Her light. Even a little bit could make a difference in closing their wounds.

_Perhaps not all of it is gone. Try it regardless._

The Hollow Knight inhaled a long, shuddering breath as they closed their eyes. Visions of a silver garden appeared before them, flickering pale lights and symbols danced through the air as a much younger version of themself listened to His instruction.

_Soul is what gives our bodies life. It flows within our shells like gentle water. With enough focus, it can be twisted into spells, and heal even the deepest wounds. Focus now. Hold it within your hands. Mold it in your image._

They let their breathing slow, gathering what energy that remained together and focusing it into their wounds. There was a coldness that came over the laceration, soothing like water to a burn, and the blistering pain ebbed into a more tolerable numbness.

Looking again at the wound in the reflection of the crystal, it no longer shone with void. The shell around where their arm had once been was puckered and hideous, but it was better than having not done anything at all.

With the pain subsided, the Hollow Knight let out a sigh of relief. Looking back into the crystal, they traced the line of the fracture in their shell. Why it hadn’t healed like the rest of their wounds, they had no idea. Still, it was tolerable. The pain in their shell had seemed much worse when the initial wound was inflicted. So much so that they vaguely remembered letting out a cry of pain. But wasn't such a feat impossible? They had no voice to begin with, no voice to cry in suffering. Just like Father said.

And yet.

The Hollow Knight ran a hand over their throat, hesitant. They swallowed nervously.

"Aah...?"

Immediately they recoiled, the sound had been coarse and ragged like gravel. They felt their shoulders shake, ashamed and afraid of what they had done. They were the Hollow Knight, they were not meant to speak, so where did such a sound come from? It had manifested when they had absorbed the Infection as She screamed and fought back. Was this some curse by Her doing? Had this sound always been with them and they never knew it?

They shook their head and pulled themselves to their feet and out of their hiding spot. Having a little more strength to go on, they exited out of the caverns and back down the road on their original path.

_You are the Hollow Knight. You have no voice. Don't ever try that again._

Following the signs in the path, they eventually made their way to the tram station. The cart was waiting at the station, its lights on but the door shut. They dug through their cloak, fingers finding the old remains of the tram pass they had used long ago and inserting it into the slot on the rusted iron cart. The door opened for them and they fiddled with the controls to set the cart in motion towards the Resting Grounds.

_It won’t be too long now._

As the old tram began to move forward on its rusted tracks, they settled on one of the empty seats not occupied by a corpse. They leaned against the wall, resting their head against the murky window and staring out as the crossroads vanished past their vision.

The rocking of the cart had a soothing feel, and as the tunnels grew darker with only the occasional lantern to light the way, they felt their eyelids grow heavy. Part of them was afraid, of course, to fall back asleep. But the lull of the tram and soft hum of the mechanisms rolling on the tracks were too tempting.

The Hollow Knight shut their eyes, letting the rest of the world fall away for just a moment. Yes, they’d only rest their eyes for a moment.

When they opened their eyes, the windows outside the tram cart were a deep black. They had no idea where they were now, but they could see a light in the tunnel ahead, burning and bright and beautiful.

_Tell me._

Her wings brushed against their shell. 

_Tell me of the dreams that you hold dear._

No. Not again. It couldn’t be, She was dead.

_You are so quiet, dear knight. Why do you remain as such?_

Their heart pounded in their chest, but they refused to speak.

 _You poor thing. So loyal and resolute, so quiet and obedient._ _The good little slave He wanted you to be. I know you understand me. Wyrms pull bugs into their thrall. The ones who do not fit their designs are thrown away. Surely, you know that best?_

The Hollow Knight felt a snarl bubble in the back of their throat, but choked it back before it could escape.

 _Do_ **_not_ ** _speak._

_Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel._

As they chanted those words, the warmth began to grow out. Spreading like roots throughout their limbs. It was an intoxicating feeling, one that urged them to come closer.

_I understand you, dear knight. I believe that out of any being, old or new, living or dead, I am the only one who truly understands what you are feeling._

They could feel Her voice trailing up their spine now. _Did you believe that He cared about you? That you were anything but a means to an end? That is not what the wyrm is._

Shut up. They felt their hand twitch in response. _Do_ **_not_ ** _feel._

_Why else would He have left you to rot away in that tomb for all of eternity? You were nothing more than a tool for Him. He cares for nothing but His decaying world. He cares not for you. I know you understand me. Wyrms pull bugs into their thrall. The ones who do not fit their designs are thrown away. Surely, you know that best?_

You’re wrong. Tell Her she’s wrong...! _Do_ **_not_ ** _speak, do_ **_not_ ** _speak._

With a gasp, the Hollow Knight’s eyes shot open and they bolted upright. Automatically, they grabbed their nail, preparing for a fight. The tram had come to a stop now, there was no trace that She had ever been there in the first place.

Their breathing came out as a wheeze rattling their chest and their head felt heavy as though it were stuffed with cotton. They were trembling, but quickly tightened their grip on their nail. It was only a dream, nothing more than a foolish nightmare. She was dead, slain, their freedom was proof of that.

 _Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel. You are the Hollow Knight, damn it._ **_Focus_ ** _._

The tram felt claustrophobic all of a sudden, more like a cage than a vehicle. Desperate for fresh air, to get away from this horrible place, they picked up their nail and stormed out of the tram and down the road. Away from whatever that was.

༻❁༺


	6. Chapter Five: Reflection

•⊰ Chapter Five ⊱•

༺ • Reflection• ༻

Hornet

────────⊹⊱ꕥ⊰⊹────────

The journey through the old crossroads was a tentative one. Hornet kept far from the ground and away from any other bugs she spotted. The roads were still quiet, but there were citizens scattered on the way.

It was unpleasant seeing the few remaining bugs on the roads. Feelings of confusion, desperation, and fury ranged in the citizens coming to realize that their home had fallen to rubble. Some picked through the wreckage that were once their homes and livelihoods to find anything salvageable, others wept over the crippled corpses of their friends and loved-ones gone by time and Her infection, and many wandered aimlessly or huddled over themselves as the shock of what they had lost settle in.

Unable to stomach so much grief, Hornet watched from a perch for only a moment before pushing forward. No matter where she went though, she was never far from the wails and cries of the lost citizens of the fallen Hollownest. Each new tunnel brought forth a new sight of destruction, another collection of grieving and confused citizens who had unwillingly exchanged one nightmare for another.

Already she could sense that conflict and madness was not far off. Grief would bleed into anger, and the tunnels would be overrun with violence. Little Ghost was capable of taking care of themself, but the thoughts of them being cornered by an angry crowd sent a sick feeling in Hornet’s chest.

_Best not to think of such a thing right now. They’ll be fine._

Moving quickly, she dashed down the road toward the old elevator that led to the city below. It had been created as a shortcut of sorts for the working class of bugs to quickly go from the crossroads to the city, but it had been closed off during the height of the infection and only recently unlocked. Hornet wondered if this too was the work of Little Ghost as she flicked the lever.

The metal cage’s doors shut and began it’s slow descent into the darkness. As it crept lower, the cries from the crossroads faded away. In a way, she was relieved to no longer hear those wails anymore, even if it was only for a moment.

As the world gradually shifted away from the crossroads, Hornet looked down at the pale flower pinned to the front of her cloak; even in the fading light it had an ethereal glow about it that shone even in the darkest tunnels.

It was out of place, and yet… familiar all the same.

_Like Father’s power. But… not quite His power._

Hornet stared at the delicate petals for a long moment, but unable to recall anything she let out a frustrated sigh and decided to direct her thoughts to more productive things. Plans for how to get through the chaotic city, what she would say to Little Ghost when she found them, why the Radiance was suddenly slain.

_The Hollow Knight is still out there._

Hornet gripped the hilt of her sword so tight that her claws hurt, “Ridiculous. They are not my kin and not my concern.”

But speaking such words, it left a sour taste on her tongue. Guilt settled over her shoulders remembering that the lost knight was wandering the tunnels on their own. They were visibly injured when Hornet saw them last, but in spite of it they had been so determined to try and return to the side of the Pale King. But as injured as they were, surely the Hollow Knight, the protector of the kingdom, would be able to take care of themself, couldn’t they?

They were not kin. Or rather, she was taught not to view them as such. To do so, said her Father, could be detrimental. They do not feel anything, He had said. They do not speak or understand. They are empty.

A very long time ago, in a quiet silver garden far from the rest of Hollownest, she believed otherwise. 

_I wanted to believe it wasn’t true._

The silence was a weight on Hornet’s shoulders as the lift made it’s slow descent into the darkness. She looked to her nail, her reflection dull and staring back accusingly.

_I swore an oath._

She swallowed, her throat feeling dry. How much value would an oath have in a fallen kingdom? Oaths become little more than words that become worthless when survival was necessary, but she had sworn one regardless.

_I swore an oath to you._

Quietly, she made a decision as the lift crawled to a stop and braced herself for the madness surely to follow in the city beyond.

༻❁༺

_The Pale King was a being of perfection._ An illusive, flawless figure of power and intelligence whose presence shone over all of Hollownest and His subjects. He was a being without fault, without weaknesses or stains.

Therefore, Hornet did not exist to the citizens of Hollownest. For what being so pure would be so low as to father a bastard of Deepnest? However, a bargain had been made long before her birth, and therefore she was to be cared for and acknowledged to an extent. A princess not by title, but by obligation. She would have no ties to the pale throne, as the Pale King was likely to rule Hollownest forever if time allowed, but she would be welcomed into His graces as one of the Great Knights when the time was right.

Deepnest was most of her upbringing, by Midwife and the court left behind by a mother she had spent so little time with, but what was left was raised in the White Palace and by the Pale King.

It would be a somber journey taken by the mechanical trains built by His design, leaving the familiar shadows of Deepnest behind for the pulchritude of the Pale Court. A trade of crimson robes dyed in the inks of crushed roots native to the darker tunnels of Hollownest for the silver and ivory capes worn by all who resided by the Pale King’s side.

Barbarism for elegance was what the courts of both shadows and light would whisper.

When Hornet had first seen Him, had learned that this being of perfection was her father, Hornet had been awestruck. The gleam of the White Palace and its silver gardens had seemed magical, so otherworldly and impossible that at an age so young, she too viewed Him as perfection. The Pale Lady, a second mother that Hornet clung to the side of so often as a child, was a figure of beauty adorned in silks that seemed grey at first, but would ripple with an iridescent glitter when she moved ever so slightly.

It had all seemed like a dream, as if the infection were just a mere rumor and her Father was just as much the flawless and intelligent god the citizens worshipped. That no matter what happened, the Pale King would always find a solution. 

That, however, did little to dissuade Dryya, who had taught Hornet how to first wield a nail.

“Many dangers lurk within the shadows of Hollownest,” She adjusted Hornet’s grip on her nail, “As a knight of the Pale Court, you must strive to be strong, courageous and resilient.”

“For Father- His Majesty.” She corrected quickly.

Dryya stared into Hornet’s face, “Not only for His Majesty, little one. For _all_ of Hollownest. From the members of the Pale Court, to the fungus and residents of the Greenpath, to the smallest grubs that have no one to protect them and the citizens who dismiss our aide, the oath we swear is to guard the lives and honor of all those who call this land home.”

“Why?” Hornet asked.

“A King is no king without his people,” Dryya stated, “A people without their king would be lost as well. Therefore, once you swear your oath as a Great Knight, your duty will be to both.”

“I will.” Hornet had said, earnestly.

Dryya nodded, “Good. Now, let us begin.”

Day after day, the knight kept Hornet to a rigorous and arduous schedule. Dryya had her run drills daily, ironing out mistakes in posture and stance early on and teaching Hornet to notice errors in others and to quickly attack them. By the time her lessons ended and she moved on to dinner with the Pale Lady or some other lesson, her muscles ached and her claws grew calloused and bruised. Hornet’s nail had felt heavy at first, unwieldy and awkward. But with time and ambition, her weapon became just another extension of her arm.

Once, not too long into her lessons, the little warrior had tried to be early to a lesson. Being late would earn Hornet scoldings or longer practice hours, but this time she was eager to start and to show her mentor what she had learned from the Silkweavers, who would often use lines of silk as a weapon, and to hopefully find a way to combine the lessons into one.

As she entered the silver gardens, however, Hornet caught the tail ends of some kind of conversation. The voices she recognized as belonging to her mentor and father, but the tones seemed sharp.

“... running on borrowed time, this is the only way.”

“You place our hopes in a _child_.”

“What you see is a vessel, not a child. It is our savior.”

“This is madness, Your Majesty-!”

“She requires a mind and a will to control, there is nothing for her to take root. But it must be prepared to fight when the time comes.”

“How am I to teach something empty?”

"As quickly as possible."

Hornet peered around a silver bush; Dryya and the Pale King stood by a balcony that overlooked the pale roots of the palace. Her mentor’s stance was agitated, her claws formed into tight fists while the Pale King stood straight and regal.

But between them, watching the two mutely was a much smaller figure. One that Hornet did not recognize. The Pale King’s gaze darted from Dryya, meeting Hornet’s and causing her to flinch.

“Come forward, Hornet.” He ordered, his voice taking on a more gentle tone. Dryya turned to see the little warrior leave her spot and bowed as gracefully as she could.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to spy.” She apologized quietly.

“At ease, little one,” Dryya nodded, “I didn’t expect you to be here so quickly.”

Hornet rose to her feet, looking to the third, unknown figure between her mentor and father; they were small, adorned in a black cloak and with large ivory horns.

“Who is that?” She asked.

The Pale King and Dryya exchanged a look. With no words, an unwilling agreement seemed to be forged.

“They will be joining our lessons for a little while,” Dryya explained, “His Majesty and I thought it would be beneficial for the two of you to spar together as a means of perfecting your skills.”

Hornet blinked, the idea of having a partner to duel with exciting. She approached the mysterious bug, noting that even at such a young age she was visibly taller than they were.

“Nice to meet you,” She said, “I am Hornet, what is your name?”

The little warrior saw the Pale King flinch, but it had been so brief that she thought that she had just imagined it. Silence fell over the room as the horned bug looked up at Hornet, staring with large black eyes and eerily still.

“They do not have a name,” The Pale King stated thinly.

Hornet was confused, “But… what do I call them then?”

Her father gave a look to Dryya, and then turned to leave, “Nothing.”

With the word said, her father left.

༻❁༺

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter than usual, some life stuff popped up for me and I was pressed for time! Next chapter will be longer!


	7. Chapter Six: Collapsed

•⊰ Chapter Six ⊱•

༺ • Collapsed • ༻

Hollow Knight

────────⊹⊱❂⊰⊹────────

How long had it been since the Hollow Knight set foot upon these sacred grounds? If what scraps of memory they had left served correct, then the last time they had been amidst the tombstones was during one of the many burials of those lost by the Infection. They had attended every one of them alongside the other Great Knights, all leading up to them sealing away the sickness.

Before then, they remembered the grieving faces of families and friends laying to rest their deceased, only for them themselves to be later buried beside their dead brethren from the very same infection. The Hollow Knight hoped that with their sacrifice, no more would meet that fate.

_Because you hoped at all is the reason that they are all nothing but food for grubs now._

The Hollow Knight treaded slowly down the overgrown paths, their gaze meeting each of the tombstones they passed. A weight formed in their chest thinking of how many had been buried in this place after falling to Her influence, and how many more had died but had not been given a proper resting place.

_Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel. You are the Hollow Knight._

Quietly, they ducked their head down and kept walking. It felt as though the souls of those who had passed were watching them, their gazes burning cold and apathetic. Hundreds of them, thousands even all watching the Hollow Knight as they stared out at the sea of stone monuments and shadows.

In their daze, they walked a bit further down the road only to find three large monuments that had not been there before. Standing at their base, they realized with dread that this was a memorial built for the three Dreamers. With each tall pillar, a mask was painted to represent each of them, though with time and decay they had faded to some extent.

However, the tablet in front of their graves still read clearly;

_To protect the Vessel, the Dreamers lay sleeping._

_Monomon the Teacher_

_In her Archive, surrounded by fog and mist._

_Lurien the Watcher_

_In his Spire, looking over the city._

_Herrah the Beast_

_In her Den, amidst the deep darkness beyond the kingdom._

_Through their devotion, Hollownest lasts eternal._

Their hand shook as they held the hilt of their nail, guilt feeling like a poison threatening to destroy them from the inside out. The Hollow Knight had not been closely associated with the Dreamers, but they remembered the stoic resolution of their stances as they prepared their own sacrifice.

To die a deathless end. To sleep an unawaking dream. To forever be trapped in a prison of their mind and bodies, much like the Hollow Knight themself had been for so long. They wondered what would become of the Dreamers now that the seals had broken; would they remain in a purposeless slumber for the rest of time, or would they wake up to find a wasteland of nothing?

What cruel fates in balance because they were not strong enough. Because they had failed their sole purpose, three more lives were ruined.

_I will atone for my sins. I am the Hollow Knight, and I swear that I will repent to His Majesty even if it costs me my life._

It became painful to look at the lonely monuments, so as quickly as they could manage they tried to retrace the steps leading to the path for the capitol’s lift and the Blue Lake. Finding it open, they moved down the tunnels and onto the broken road and resisted the urge to look back.

Now lay a crossroads between the Blue Lake and the way to the lift. They felt drained, what little strength they had recovered from the short rest on the tram was dwindling the longer they spent traveling.

 _Just a little bit longer._

They leaned against their nail, their body feeling heavy and clumsy. Once they made it into the city, it would be only a short distance to reach the Ancient Basin where the White Palace had been established.

_Just a bit more._

Hornet’s words came to mind then, her warning of the city being in chaos upon their release from the infection. Surely, it had been an exaggeration! Just a means of detouring them from their quest!

They squeezed their eyes shut, the crack in their mask pulsing with new pain; Hornet, as much as they wanted to disbelieve her, was not someone to exaggerate things. She would most likely be right, and the citizens of Hollownest would be justified in their anger and confusion. But surely, they would not turn their backs to their King, would they? Father had done so much for this kingdom, He was a being of perfection and intelligence, He was never wrong-!

 _Hornet had said no one had heard from Him in an age. She had said that He abandoned Hollownest. That He was a coward. She_ has _to be lying!_

The grim, sickening thought of their sire being dead felt like drowning. It felt as though they had been stabbed, but there was no wound. It hurt, but why?

_No, no, He isn’t dead._

Their grip tightened so much that they wondered if their claws would break. They were gasping a short, wheezing sound that rattled their whole body. When they opened their eyes, the world was muddled and disjointed. They took a step forward and their legs felt like they were going to collapse.

 _He can’t be dead. He’s not dead. If He is then…_ **_then… No! He can’t be dead. Please… Please, anything but that. I can’t… I can’t-_ **

Father was intelligent, He was an image of perfection. He was probably hiding for His own safety, or busy thinking of another solution to fight the Radiance. Yes, that _must_ be the case.

They swallowed gulps of dry air, repeating the words again. _Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel. Get ahold of yourself, you are the Hollow Knight!_

Slowly, they managed to get their breathing under control and straightened like a proper knight. With some semblance of their composure regained, they walked towards the path to the lift, ignoring the dread that seemed to cling to their back.

Climbing over an incline, the road ahead was a short distance. A crumpled sign in the road indicated the city was not but a short journey from here. As they began to walk forward, however, the Hollow Knight saw that there was a large bug in the road. One adorned in dark armor and wielding both a greatnail and shell.

_One of the elite city guards._

The bug turned to the Hollow Knight and raised his nail, “Halt there, you cur! Identify yourself!”

Unable to speak they moved from the shadows and into the light, adjusting their stance so that they were not leaning on their nail.

“You…! It can’t be!” The guard sputtered, eyes wide with shock and disbelief, “You’re the Hollow Knight!”

They did not move, only watching as the guard’s face quickly morphed from shock to anger, and then to disdain.

“You are either very arrogant or very foolish to show yourself here again, traitor.”

The Hollow Knight glared, holding their nail close to their side.

“I will say, this is quite a fateful encounter,” The guard tilted their head, “How fateful is it that once my senses had become clear again, I would soon after cross paths with you. The supposed “Pure Vessel” that led the destruction of Hollownest.”

They felt a sharp jab of shame at the reminder of their failure, but they maintained their composure. _Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel._

“What’s the matter, traitor? Have you no tongue to dispute my claims?” The guard prodded further, approaching the Hollow Knight with his weapon by his side, “Perhaps you remain silent because you know they are true.”

_You’re wrong._

The Hollow Knight raised their nail defensively. The guard was only a few feet away now, but he stopped the moment they raised their blade and laughed a harsh, bitter sound.

“Go ahead, take a swing at me. It changes nothing; you and your recreant of a father have committed treason against this kingdom, and let the Infection claim the lives of thousands.”

 _Shut up._ Their hands were shaking with fury. _Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel._

The city guard drew his nail back, “Blood for blood, Hollow Knight. Consider this retribution-!”

He swung the blade down, but the moment that metal clanged against metal, the Hollow Knight shifted their weight and shoved the guard back, using the momentum to swipe at the air and strike at the city guard.

The blow struck the guard’s armor, causing a dent in the steel and forcing a pained grunt out of the guard’s mouth.

He stumbled backwards, recomposed himself and then snarled, “You foul little-!”

They lunged forward, swinging their nail once, twice, three times at the traitorous city guard. As wounded as they were, they were still a knight to the Pale Court and a force to be reckoned against.

The first blade struck steel as the city guard attempted to raise their shield in defense. But he was far less fortunate with the second and third blows, which hit him in the chest and across the cheek. He let out a yell, recoiling backwards and out of the way as the wound bled from a heavy cut.

Briefly, the Hollow Knight considered finishing the job. But this miscreant was not worth the time, and would be better tried for his treason to the kingdom in due proper.

They walked past the city guard as he wiped at the cruor from his face. The Hollow Knight was guarded though, preparing for the case that he’d strike from behind.

“Go ahead and run, demon!” The city guard laughed scornfully, “If not I, then someone else will take your head! But before they do, I swear on my name as Tor the Defender and on the graves of my fallen brethren that your wretched father will hang with you!”

Their body froze. They hadn’t meant to stop walking but those words, those vile, despicable words were a needle through flesh. _Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel. He’s trying to distract you, do not let him._

Tor spat into the dirt, “A plague on you. I swear it, monster, I’ll hunt you and the entirety of your Pale Court to the ends of the earth.”

_Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel._

“Even if it kills me, I’ll avenge those who you and the king have forsaken…!”

 _Do not let him bait you, do not feel!_ **_Do not-!_ **

“And right before your time comes I will make you watch as your dastard father is beheaded for his sins-!”

They lurched for him, nail drawn and erratic. This time, they were not as graceful as their strikes met the shield Tor was holding. The third one met Tor’s nail, and the elite city guard held his ground.

“Not so empty after all, are you?”

_Go to hell, hypocrite._

Tor shoved, hard, pushing the Hollow Knight off and back several feet. He rushed forward, swinging his heavy nail towards them. Quickly, they threw up their nail and there was a clashing of metal against metal.

They would have to repent for losing their composure like this, but had grown from just a nuisance to an affair of honor. What sort of knight could they be if they didn’t defend the dignity of their Father and this land’s King?

Backstepping from Tor, the Hollow Knight leveled their nail up beside their head and lunged for the guard. Their blade met the shield, the attack reverberating through their arm and carapace. Pain stung through their closed wounds and their fingers threatened to drop the weapon, but the Hollow Knight held on as tightly as they could.

“Bit worse for wear, aren’t you?” Tor pressed more of his weight into the shield, shoving the Hollow Knight back.

They regained their footing and adjusted the grip on their nail. Now, more than anything, they longed for the use of their missing arm. Father had taught them how to twist soul into daggers and pillars, but it was impossible to cast spells while holding a nail.

_I doubt I have enough soul to even conjure one dagger._

No matter, they were capable enough with just a nail.

Tor charged, heaving their sword towards the Hollow Knight. They parried once, blades clashing against one another, but the second blow sliced through the air and cut at their cloak. No wounds, thankfully, but it was far too close.

Reposing, they thrust their nail upwards and into the armor’s shoulder piece. The metal sank in with a sickening _crack_ and Tor let out a yell of pain. They swung again, landing three quick strikes to his chest.

“Bastard…” Tor grunted, looking far worse.

The Hollow Knight raised their nail, preparing to finish off the traitorous city guard.

“You think this changes anything?!” The guard snapped, “Do you think you can wash away the sins that you and your father have committed, you damned monster?!”

They hesitated. _No… no, not Father’s sins._

Tor glared at the Hollow Knight, “You are a liar and a fiend! We gave you our loyalty and trust, but it was all for naught! You failed to protect us! You killed _everyone_!”

Once more, the feeling of shame and guilt grew heavier over the Hollow Knight’s shoulders, threatening to crush them. As poisonous as the words were, they could not deny the truth of what they had done. Their hands, hands that had been created to fight and to protect both the kingdom and their Father, were stained with the blood of thousands.

They had sworn to repent to His Majesty. They vowed to make amends for their sins. But how could they? How much would be enough?

It was foolish to think that they could. But it was also just as foolish to have let their thoughts, thoughts they never should have had, distract them for so long. All they registered was the sudden, rapid flutter of wings on their left.

As they turned to the sound there was a sharp blow and splatter over the socket where their left arm, followed by a searing pain that coursed through their body. Uncontrolled, a hideous, ragged shriek escaped their mouth that pierced the air like broken glass, and they dropped their nail in response.

Hovering over them, holding a nail coated in grey cruor, was a winged sentry in grey armor. They looked at the Hollow Knight with a cold gaze.

“Blood for blood, traitor.”

They briefly caught a glimpse of motion, but right as they tried to dive for their fallen weapon, Tor drove the hilt of his nail into the side of the Hollow Knight’s head with a sickening _crack_. 

Burning fire spread across their face as the hilt connected against the crack in their mask, causing their vision to briefly go white and for their body to go cold. They crumpled to the ground, sight coming to the Hollow Knight in brief, disconnected flashes. In their haze, they could’ve sworn they saw bugs that hadn’t been there before. They saw Father in all His pale glory watching on with disappointment, their mother and Hornet were staring on, the eyes of those they had laid to rest and demanded retribution.

_This is death. This is where I die._

Instead of a blade, however, they felt a sharp pull on their cloak. They tried, pitifully, to fight against the grip of Tor as he leveled his gaze with the Hollow Knight’s.

“Don’t you go and die just yet,” He hissed in their face, “Yours is a retribution that deserves a proper audience.”

All they saw next was the hilt of the nail again. But right before it could connect, the world took on a grey edge. The eyes of the dead were gone, but there was one bug remaining. One concealed just barely in the shadows. The gleam of a nail briefly registered as the figure lingered.

_Hornet…?_

Then their vision went black.

༻❁༺


	8. Chapter Seven: Escapism

•⊰ Chapter Seven ⊱•

༺ • Escapism • ༻

Quirrel

────────⊹⊱✦⊰⊹────────

Upon seeing the watery ruins of the capital, it was titled the City of Tears now but not before the collapse of the kingdom, Quirrel grew to wonder where the source of the rainwater lay. He found his answer after some wandering, the road ending at the appropriately named Blue Lake.

He sat upon the shore, watching the stilted waters lap against the shore and letting the echoes of the dangers beyond fade away. Though it was unwise to remain without a weapon for too long, he doubted anyone would risk bothering him here. And, even if they did, he would be much faster to draw the first attack.

Small footsteps padded behind Quirrel, but they were a familiar sound that did not cause the old wanderer too much alarm. Soon enough, their rather short and stoic friend appeared by his side and watched Quirrel quietly.

“Again we meet, my short friend,” He spoke lightly, “You seem a bit worse for wear, but I’m glad that I could see you again.”

Little Ghost stared at him; their shell was covered in small scratches and cuts, likely a result of some kind of fight. But knowing them, they were a resilient one who seemingly had no equal in strength.

Quirrel felt their shoulders sink a bit, “You ran off shortly after the fight with the Madam’s guard… I’ve yet to see you do such a thing. Why do you hesitate?”

The little one hung their head, probably the most emotion that Quirrel had seen from the rather stoic shadow. They had awoken the Madam’s guard, a creature named Uumuu created to protect Madame Monomon, and Quirrel had leapt into the fight once his memories became unshrouded.

Once the dust had settled though, when Quirrel reversed the protection on his teacher’s resting place, all that remained was to break the seals keeping the Madame at rest. But there was hesitation, and the Little Ghost had left and not returned. Quirrel waited for a while, but decided best to clear his head first from the rush of adrenaline and old memories. If his little friend came back to finish the job without him to witness it, so be it.

Quirrel tilted their head at the ghost, “The choice to reform was hers, not mine. She knows what you would do and welcomes it. Mercy is a fine thing, but you and her agree this must be done.”

The Little Ghost stared at Quirrel. Though they did not seem one for emotions, he assumed that the silence was one of guilt.

The older bug huffed a small laugh, “And here I thought you were one without emotion. It’s somewhat of a relief to see that it isn’t completely the case.”

Quietly, the Little Ghost moved next to Quirrel and sat by his side. They stared out at the lake, though what they were looking at was beyond the older bug’s comprehension.

“It’s a heavy thing you attempt. But I’ve seen your prowess up close, and she too believes you capable,” He stated, looking out at the water, “To think, such a small creature would bear this kingdom’s fate.”

There was no response, as per usual. But even with the silence, Quirrel always felt as though their small friend was still listening.

“Twice I’ve seen this world, and though my service may have stripped the first experience from me, I’m thankful I could witness its beauty again,” Quirrel went on, all but talking to himself, “Hollownest is a vast and wondrous thing, but in as many wonders as it holds, I’ve seen none quite so intriguing as you.”

The Little Ghost looked to him, and the older bug chuckled softly.

“My flattery returns only silent stoicism. I like that. I like that very much…”

He stared out at the water, the weight of all he had seen settling over his shoulders. _To live an age, yet remember so little. Perhaps I should be thankful? All tragedy erased, I see only wonders._ Though after it all, after all the hardships and wondering, there seemed to be nothing but an empty road ahead. Was it worth traveling if there was no end?

There was a shift of fabric, and when Quirrel looked over he saw that Little Ghost was holding a small white flower in their hands.

“An interesting find, my short friend! I can’t say that I’ve ever seen something like this during my travels through the kingdom,” Quirrel examined the flower in his friend’s hands, “Hollownest is filled with wondrous things, but this? This seems different somehow.”

They held the flower out to Quirrel, but he shook his head.

“I am grateful you would think to give me such a thing, little one. But I’m afraid that I would have no use for it.”

The Little Ghost still extended the flower to Quirrel, seemingly insisting that he take it.

“What’s this? Stubbornness perhaps?” Quirrel mused, “You’ve yet to show emotions like this before, Little Ghost. I wonder, has something changed? Even now, the longer I look, there seems to be an air of sternness to you that wasn’t there before.”

They nodded, ever so slightly, as if to confirm his theory.

Quirrel sighed a bit, amused and in disbelief, “You are quite an odd one, but I suppose that is why I enjoy your company.”

He thought for a moment, and then nodded, “Very well, I will accept your gift. But if I do, you must finish what you started.”

The Little Ghost was still, staring intently at Quirrel.

“She believes in you, as do I. Be brave, friend. Your journey is not quite over.”

They were still, but then after a long moment filled by only the sounds of the water, they nodded.

Relieved, Quirrel took the small flower from the hands of the Little Ghost, “I thank you, little one. For everything. Now, be on your way, allow me to rest for a moment as I begin to feel my age.”

The Little Ghost did not move, not immediately that is. However long they sat besides Quirrel, be it a moment or for several hours, the two sat in silence. At some point though, the Little Ghost got up and the soft pads of their feet on the shore vanished. Once they were gone, there was an emptiness to the space they left behind that Quirrel hadn’t noticed before. How odd that now he would feel such a thing, but he supposed that he had come to cherish the quiet company of the Little Ghost as he wandered the vast tunnels of the kingdom.

He sighed, taking a long look at his nail by his side and then to the flower in his hands. As small and delicate as it was, there was a feeling of comfort to it. Not so much to the gift itself, but rather that even now, when the world has seemingly been reduced to ashes, there were still things that kept away the darkness.

_I suppose you helped me find my way home, Little Ghost. The fate of this kingdom lays in your hands now. I wonder if I should be so fortunate to see what you choose._

The older bug stared out at the water for some time, long enough for what sense of time he had to become blurred.

༻❁༺

From behind him, there was a shout of voices. Quirrel turned his attention to the shadowy tunnel that lay ahead, his hand already over his nail. He had no idea how long he had been by the shore or how long it had been since the Little Ghost had left him, though he supposed it was long enough. 

Whatever it was beyond his sight, it seemed like quite a violent commotion. Likely, nothing that Quirrel should get involved with. _Couldn’t be the little one, and the infected never attack one another. Perhaps another traveler?_

In spite of caution, curiosity won out and the wandering bug rose to his feet. With his nail in one hand, he hesitated with what to do with the pale flower. Being one of few belongings and somewhat pressed for time, Quirrel quickly tied the long stem around the hilt of his nail where blade met handle. A solution far from ideal as the plant seemed as fragile as glass, but he hoped that it wouldn’t come down to combat.

He stuck to the shadows as he moved forward, careful to keep his steps light as he edged his way back towards the abandoned road under the Resting Grounds. It was likely a very long time since anyone, sane or otherwise, traversed these paths to pay respects to the dead. The way was dusty and uneven, but Quirrel had spent enough time on rough roads to learn how to keep his steps quiet as he pressed forward.

Ahead was the road that led to Hollownest’s capital, one that he knew was often frequented by the occasional guard. Looking over a small ledge, Quirrel could see two sentries, one winged and the other massive in size, standing over another bug that he had not seen before.

The old wanderer narrowed his gaze at the fallen bug; they were lanky in stature and adorn in a tattered cloak. Even from a distance, Quirrel could see that their body was lined with wounds and seemingly more dead than they were alive. Most notable though, they had large ivory horns that bore a striking resemblance to the Little Ghost’s. For a brief moment, he almost believed that this _was_ the Little Ghost and was about to lunge for them, but stopped.

_The horns are too different, and I doubt any bug would be capable of growing so large so quickly. But could this bug be an associate or kin to the Little Ghost?_

He watched carefully, certain that the sentries meant to finish off the lanky bug. But they talked amongst one another, words moving too quickly for Quirrel to properly gauge the conversation with him standing somewhat far off. Still, the words he could catch were concerning.

“Don’t you go and die just yet,” The larger of the sentry's gruffed, taking the presumed unconscious bug by the front of their cloak, “Yours is a retribution that deserves a proper audience.”

The sentry with wings nodded, hovering after their large friend. For a moment though, the tall bug’s eyes met Quirrel’s, and the two stared at one another. Though the tall bug had a blank face, much like the Little Ghost, the old wandering bug couldn’t help but put a plea for help to that gaze.

The large sentry slammed the hilt of their nail into the side of the lanky bug’s head, a sharp _crack_ rang out that caused Quirrel to flinch. The large bug then hauled the seemingly unconscious bug by one arm behind them and down the road towards the elevator that would take them to the city ruins below.

The wandering bug straightened, holding his weapon close. Those guards did not act like the infected denizens of Hollownest, as the infected hardly strung together cohesive words. Even now, the longer the older bug stood in the tunnel, the air had a cleaner, crisper scent to it. Before, Quirrel was unable to escape the constant sweet stench that had become a signature to the Infection.

Regardless of what had happened to cause such a sudden change, he did not like the sounds of retribution. Especially towards a bug visibly injured and unable to fight back. If he were wise, he would’ve left it alone and been on his way. However, not a fighter by nature, Quirrel was far from someone that would let such seemingly rushed injustice be carried out.

Moving with light feet, the wandering bug slid amidst the shadows and out of the sight of the two guards. As they hauled the unconscious bug into the lift and pulled the lever, Quirrel made haste and lept silently onto the top of the large, metal cage right as it made its descent.

Holding onto the chains, he sent a silent prayer to whatever gods that remained.

_I will likely be joining what lays beyond this world soon. But first, I would first see with my own eyes what has become of this land, and perhaps intervene in the taking of someone else too soon._

༻❁༺

_What’s taking them so long?_

Grimmchild let out a huff, watching their reflection in the glowing gold water of the Godhome lake. He was getting bored, waiting for Sir Ghost to get back from whatever it was they were doing. It must’ve been something really important, but still! What could be so important that Grimmchild had to be left behind? He was really good at burning the enemies that attacked the two of them now! He wanted to fight too, so why did he have to stay behind?!

He had mewled and complained, insisting to go with them. But Sire Ghost had seemed so serious that the argument didn't last long. Sir Ghost had left him here by a bench, pointed at him to stay when they started to leave, and gave them that shiny stick thing they always carried to play with. Grimmchild had gnawed on it a little, finding that it tasted really bad. It wasn’t even very shiny when he batted at it on the ground. Not like when Sir Ghost used it, when it started glowing really bright and then they fell asleep shortly after.

Afterwards, Grimmchild had napped, had played with his reflection in the water, had fluttered around and tried to hold fire in his small hands. But even after all of that, Sir Ghost had not returned and boredom had become worry.

Grimmchild let out a whimper. Maybe they had forgotten about him? They were never gone for _this_ long. Did something happen to them? Even if something had happened, they weren’t wearing the charm that papa gave to Sir Ghost, so Grimmchild couldn’t smell them anymore or sense their presence, thus coming to their rescue wasn't an option now. That never happened before!

“Be patient, little one. They’ll come back soon.” That’s what papa whispered to him, anyway.

Papa still talked to Grimmchild sometimes. He said it was because the Nightmare Heart’s power connected them and that he’d always be with Grimmchild. He didn't really understand how it worked, but Brumm said that it would make sense when he was older.

But now Brumm was gone. Papa was gone. Everyone at the troupe was gone. Now Sir Ghost was missing. _Did everyone forget about me?_

He sniffled, shifting a little to cover the shiny thing with his wings and stared off at the gold lake. _I wanna go home back to Dirtmouth. I wanna see Elderbug and Iselda. I miss you… come back already!_

As he stared off at the water, blinking blazing red eyes he noticed that something drip into the lake. Something black that spread out like fog in the water.

 _Drip_. Another splash, followed by another black spot.

Grimmchild looked up, puzzled. Was it raining somehow?

 _Drip_. The droplets became more frequent, spilling from an unknown source above and becoming a steady stream of darkness.

He sniffed the air and perked up. This scent, it was familiar! It was the same smell that went with Sir Ghost, the one from the Abyss. Void, he was certain that it was void.

The ground started to rumble beneath him, causing Grimmchild to bolt up and look around frantically. Those other bugs, the ones adorned in shiny masks and bandages, were yelling something and moving around quickly.

“Sir Ghost?” He squeaked, another vicious rumble going through the ground, “Papa?! Where are you?!”

“ **Go. Get to the exit**.” Papa’s voice snapped in his mind.

“But-!”

“ **Do not argue, you are far too important to die here.** ”

Grimmchild spread their wings and began to fly, but stopped. He quickly went back and picked up the shiny thing, holding it in his jaws so tight that it hurt. This was Sir Ghost’s though, and they trusted Grimmchild to carry it, so he’d make sure it was safe. It was his responsibility.

Quickly, he spread his wings and took to the air. He remembered that there was an exit not far from here, and if he went to it he could go back to that junk pit again. Grimmchild shot forward, narrowly trying to avoid being hit by the panicking masked bugs.

He wasn’t very agile though, and slammed into one bug with a mask and hit the ground painfully, scraping up their tiny body a little with the landing. They wanted to cry, but they were tough and held it back while clamping down on the shiny thing. Looking up again, Grimmchild flinched as he saw that several of the gold pillars and arches in the clouds were crumbling down into dust. The ground was still shaking, splitting open like an egg and leaving deep drops into nothing. Void dribbled from the sky. Bugs screamed, and to Grimmchild’s horror, he saw a wave of void crashed down on a group of masked people, consuming them whole.

Above, something was ripping through the sky. Something huge, something dark like the void with lots of pale eyes that let out a horrible roar that made the air tremble and go cold. Grimmchild let out a muffled sob through the shiny thing, afraid and wanting to be with Sir Ghost. They were powerful and nothing scared them, they could fight something like that without even flinching!

_A real knight isn’t scared of anything!_

Determined, Grimmchild gave a powerful flap of his wings and shot forward, making sure to keep above any bugs that would run into him. He barely avoided the rain of void as it grew heavier, eyes set on the exit only as it grew closer and closer. A howl of wind screamed overhead accompanied by a roar that he felt rattle through his body.

He dove for the glowing circle, closing his eyes as bright light flooded his vision. It quickly faded, and Grimmchild was back in the smelly junk pit slamming into a chest and gasping for air through the shiny thing. Tears were in their eyes, but they refused to cry since knights were brave and.

Part of him had hoped that Sir Knight or papa was there too, that they’d be waiting for Grimmchild and that they’d be proud that he had faced something so horrible on his own. But no one was there. Sir Ghost wasn't there.

Instead, that one named the God Seeker was there. She was shaking, and inky tears were spilling from her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Grimmchild mumbled, tentatively.

Void began to leak from under the mask, soaking through the bindings around her. A dark mist began to surround her, and the air became chilly. The child backed away, glowing eyes wide with fear. The fog was growing bigger now, bigger and bigger, and a large tendril shot out and began swinging wildly through the air.

He let out a cry, taking to the air again and fleeing upwards right as the tendril swiped at him, the hit grazing his wing slightly. Through the pain, he flew up, up towards the crack in the wall that led to the surface and away from that thing. His heart was pounding so much in his chest and he was scared.

Sir Knight was gone. Papa was gone too. He was alone. No one was going to protect him.

He was scared. He was so scared. Run. Run away. Run! Run! Run! Don’t stop!

༻❁༺

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4 year anniversary Hollow Knight! I wasn't going to upload this until next week, but I figured why not in honor of one of my favorite games! 
> 
> I began playing Hollow Knight right at the beginning of the pandemic, which was a really scary time for my family and I. Honestly, I owe a lot to this game for making the bad times a little less scary.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this bonus chapter and thought that Quirrel's and Grimmchild's POVs were interesting. I love Quirrel too much so he's alive (fight me mossbag I refuse to believe my favorite boomer is dead T^T) as well as doing something different with Grimmchild, so I hope that it was at least intriguing. I'm hoping to write more from his and Quirrel's POV later.
> 
> Next chapter is a big one and one I've been very excited to write! See you all next week!


	9. Chapter Eight: Trepidation

•⊰  Chapter Eight  ⊱•

༺ •  Trepidation • ༻

Hornet

────────⊹⊱ꕥ⊰⊹────────

The City Storerooms was a long, cavernous building made from stone and brick baked with mud and paste from the Fungal Wastes. Tall columns of soaked crates, piles of casks, rolls of withering fabrics, baskets of other food and luxuries had once been lined in rows and run the length of the structures. However, due to the rain from the Blue Lake above and time, everything had decayed to little more than piles of mush.

Workers and sentries were all swarming about, all frantic to gain even a small grasp on what had happened to them. From the moment the lift had made landfall, Hornet remained in shadows and avoided the guards and worker’s lines of sight.

Hornet hid behind the gloom of a large tower of chained containers, waiting for the right moment to dash for the path downwards. A hovering sentry flew by, yelling orders for the remaining workers to get a hold of themselves as they rushed to save what waterlogged cargo survived the years of neglect.

“It’s all ruined! There’s practically nothing but crumbs left!” One worker lamented, “What mushrooms and berries that were imported have long rotted, and the fabrics and parchments that were sent by Deepnest are little more than sodden scraps!”

“We need to leave!” Another worker shouted, “This is as much a hopeless endeavor as it was before the Infection spread! Where is the King?!”

“Calm yourselves, all of you!” The sentry turned her back to Hornet’s hiding spot, addressing the group, “Go through all of these casks, gather whatever you can find. Food and clothing, anything at all of those sorts are a necessity given the state of the city!”

“We’re all doomed anyway! What’s the point now?!” A bug collapsed to their knees and wailed, “The streets are littered with the dead and we are all but drowning in our homes! He promised that the Infection was gone, but now He is nowhere to be seen when we need Him most!”

The sentry flinched, hesitated briefly and then stated, “The King will appear soon, I’m sure of it. His words and plans are absolute, and so long as we hold onto our faith, He will be our salvation. But until the city guard receives new orders, continue your previous actions. The citizens need these resources desperately.”

Hornet made her sprint as attention, reluctantly, returned back to salvaging the ruined shipments. The despair that was felt by the workers clung to Hornet like barbs, knowing full well that the king they still held in such high regard even now, amidst newer tragedy, would not likely return.

Where her Father was now, she couldn’t say for certain. But Hornet was doubtful that He would’ve lingered in these crumbling ruins for very long, if He was even alive at all.

Confusion was a rapid plague as Hornet slid through the neglected stations and corridors. What sentries flew about the storerooms were conflicted between following orders given to them before they were infected and evacuating the remaining workers. The disarray was convenient for the little warrior, as it was more unlikely that someone would notice her, but quietly moving down the main docks remained a challenge with everyone running about frantically and hiding belflies that threatened to give her position away.

However, with enough patience and observation, Hornet eventually found her way to the final lift that lowered her safely down onto the main road of the city. The flood of rain cast over the city always gave it the feel more attune to a boneyard than a grand and sprawling city. But now Hornet could hear more panicked screams and yells in the distance through the thundering waters.

“The King! The King! Where is the King?!”

“Evacuate the city! Evacuate!”

“Where is my family? Has anyone seen my family?!”

“Doomed! We are all doomed! The world has ended!”

Hornet shielded her eyes against the rain and scanned the shadows. No sign of the little vessel.

“Where have you gone…?” Hornet wondered aloud, ducking out of the center of the street and under the cover of a stone archway, “What reason would you have to come here now of all times?”

She could see citizens scrambling about the old city, huddling amongst one another for warmth and desperately carrying what ruined belongings they had outside. Sentries and city guards were shouting orders, escorting some from their homes to hopefully find safety.

Little Ghost was nowhere amongst them, however.

She tried to think what would be valuable enough to a little vessel for them to come back to these flooding roads. Two paths were laid before them, to take the Hollow Knight’s place or to face the heart of the Infection, but both would have taken the Little Ghost’s quest back to the Black Egg Temple.

_ None of the seals had been broken when the Infection faded away. _

An odd and eerie thought, as the Seals of Binding had no physical flaws. They were unbreakable, woven from the finest silks by adept claws, and bound with ancient, divine magic. No temporal thing could ever hope to leave a scratch on those threads or slip through whatever holes were left behind by the Silkweavers.

_ Only a being as powerful as the Pale King could do such a thing. But what godly being remaining in these tunnels could ever hope to stand on that same degree? _ The White Lady had bound herself out of shame, and Father was nowhere to be found. Neither of them would even have motivation to do such a thing, would they?

Hornet shook her head, frustrated. Standing in this cold weather would not bring her any answers, so the little warrior decided best to move on and think of the specifics later.

She moved through the city, avoiding the main roads and leading more towards more run-down parts of the capitol. Filth collected in gutters, bugs huddled in shady alleyways and alcoves or moved quickly across the way. Many citizens here had little possessions, and the closeness of the tall, faded buildings felt oppressive. Still, what residents remained were trying to evacuate themselves and their neighbors. 

As Hornet passed, she saw many scraping together makeshift rafts and boats to navigate the murky canals. No sentries lingered in these parts, seemingly more at focus with saving the eastern wing of the city before turning their thoughts to the poorer districts, and leaving the rest, less fortunate to drown.

_ For shame on the supposed sworn protectors of this city. _

She turned a corner, trying to stay out of the way of others, but immediately felt a small force slam into her. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel rattle throughout her small frame. 

Hornet stumbled backwards, withdrawing her nail out of instinct and preparing for a fight. A pair of blazing red eyes met hers, and Hornet sucked in a sharp breath.

Grimmchild scrambled away from her, their back arched and a low growl rumbling in their throat. He had noticeably grown since the last time Hornet had seen him, his wings were much wider and his eyes burned in a way they hadn’t before.

“Y-You’re-” Hornet began to speak, taking a cautious step forward.

“Stay away!” The Grimmchild backed away quickly, his words muffled through some sort of metal stick in their mouth.

She froze, “You speak-?!”

He growled, eyeing Hornet with fear. Looking closer, she noticed that Grimmchild was covered in bloody scratches. One of his wings had a large gash on it, and it was a wonder that he was able to fly at all.

“You’re hurt,” She extended a hand to him, “I don’t want to hurt you, I can help.”

“B-Burn! I’ll burn you!” Grimmchild took another step back, bright eyes glittered with tears and his small form shaking. Bright red sparks crackled between their teeth, preparing for an attack if needed.

Hornet cursed quietly under her breath. She knew she was terrible at this aspect of being a knight; the parts that required patience with people than with opportunity attacks. Dryya was better at things like this, and Isma’s kindness was second nature. Hornet was raised to be a warrior, which left very little room for flowery language.

_ What would Dryya or Isma do if they were here? _

She breathed in slowly and lowered her weapon, kneeling down to be more at the little bug’s height, “I understand that you don’t have reason to trust me, but I promise I mean you no harm. I want to help you, so please, come here.”

Grimmchild watched her carefully as she reached her hand out to him again. Her fingers trembled and the rain dripped down her face and threatened to blind her, but she remained still. The small bug relaxed his posture, little by little, and tears began to roll down his cheeks.

“S-Scary…” He whimpered, “So sc-scared…!”

Hornet was about to speak, but then Grimmchild dashed at her and buried his face into her cloak with a loud sob. She tensed, instinctively wanting to push him away, but remained still and ran a slow hand over the top of his head while the small bug cried. No one paid her much attention as she attempted to console the small bug. It was a blessing of sorts in such miserable circumstances, and by the time Grimmchild had calmed down, the rain had soaked through her cloak and her body shook from the cold.

Grimmchild’s cries had relaxed to more quiet sniffling, so the warrior cleared her throat and asked, “Are you feeling somewhat better?”

“Sort of…” The small bug looked up into the warrior’s face, his cheeks red and eyes damp, “You’re Lady Hornet…”

“Hornet is fine,” She replied, “And if the rumors are to be trusted, I know you are Grimmchild.”

He nodded.

“You were traveling with Little Ghost the last time we met. You were also much smaller then you are now and didn’t speak.”

The small bug blinked, “I ate the Nightmare Flames and am connected to the Nightmare Heart now. I don’t know why, but papa said that it would make sense when I got older.”

Hornet blinked, the words practically a different language, “I-I see…and is your wing okay?”

Grimmchild gave a tentative flap to the scratched wing and winced a bit, “It hurts when I move it…”

“I can look at it,” Hornet offered, attempting to move the two out of the rain and into a more safe location, “For now, I can carry you. But you will need to hold on tightly, understand?”

He nodded, and after a moment of fumbling Grimmchild rested on her shoulders. Slowly, Hornet rose to her feet. She would’ve preferred to ask the small bug questions as to why he wasn’t with Little Ghost, but now did not seem like a wise time to press for questions.

She shot out her threads and moved up the close buildings. Grimmchild clung tightly to her cloak, letting out a short, surprised yelp as she went soaring over the spires and vengefly spikes. Unable to travel too far, Hornet landed on an old bridge that spanned over the main city square and quickly entered the nearest building.

Thankfully, not far from the bridge was a quiet, isolated room with a bench. Plum-colored wallpaper hung around them in soggy clumps and the sitting room would’ve been completely dark if it weren’t for the few fading lumafly lanterns. Hornet sat on the bench and Grimmchild moved off her shoulders and next to her. He shook the water off quickly, placed a metal stick on the seat next to him, and then looked up at the warrior as she dug through her tool pouch.

“Hold still, understand?” She instructed, withdrawing a worn handkerchief from the pouch. The remnants of a small gift from the Deepnest court, the small square of silk was threadbare, unraveling at the seams and stained, but it was all that Hornet had at the moment.

She pressed the fabric into the wound on Grimmchild’s wing, but then the small bug let out a yelp and recoiled away from her.

“That stings!” He cried angrily.

“You need to hold still.” She scolded.

“It hurts though!”

“It will hurt worse if you keep moving around!”

Grimmchild scowled at her, puffing up his back in an attempt to look more menacing. It was more cute than it was intimidating, but Hornet was growing impatient with the small bug again.

The two glared at one another for a long moment until Grimmchild averted his gaze and relaxed his stance. Seemed as though Hornet had won whatever stand-off they had engaged in.

“Sorry…” He mumbled.

Hornet sighed, “You don’t need to apologize. But will you hold still long enough for me to work on those cuts?”

Grimmchild bristled, but then nodded stiffly and moved closer to her.

More gently this time, Hornet dabbed at the cuts and bruises on the small bug’s face and wings. His face scrunched up, clearly pained by the gestures but remaining as still as he could manage.

“You must’ve been through a great deal of hell…” Hornet glanced up at the small child briefly, “I commend your bravery.”

He hung his head, “I wish I was like you…”

“What do you mean…?”

“Knight’s aren’t supposed to cry.”

Hornet tilted her head slightly to better look at Grimmchild, “You aspire to be a knight then?”

He nodded, “I wanna be like Sir Ghost! They aren’t scared of anything and they’re really tough! Knights are brave and strong, nothing scares them!”

She huffed a short laugh, “That isn’t necessarily true.”

Grimmchild narrowed blazing eyes at her, “But you’re not scared of anything!”

“Knights get scared like everyone else,” She explained, “They just know how to be brave when others are afraid.”

“Even Sir Ghost?”

She paused, unsure herself if they were even capable of feeling fear. They faced the Abyss unscathed, they traversed all throughout Hollownest with relative ease, but she was unsure what drove them to do so.

“I’m sure even Ghost has fears…” She dabbed at the cut on Grimmchild’s wing. 

He winced, but held still. It was a deep injury, but luckily it did not slice through the flesh completely. It would likely heal on its own and not impair the small bug’s ability to fly in the future.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Not as much.” He looked up at Hornet’s face, “Th-Thank you, Lady Hornet.”

She nodded, “No need for thanks.”

“Promise you won’t tell Sir Ghost and papa that I was crying?”

Hornet blinked, “What?”

Grimmchild made a face, “Papa and Sir Ghost already treat me like I’m a baby! But I’m not a baby, I’m gonna be a brave knight! Knights don’t cry when they get scared!”

The warrior resisted a snort of laughter, “Very well. Your secret is safe with me.”

He grinned, revealing two rows of pointed teeth that didn’t seem quite sharp enough to even tear through wet parchment.

With the air somewhat calmer, Hornet shifted to a more serious tone, “Grimmchild, I understand that what you’ve been through much. But I need to inquire you questions about the Little Ghost, or rather, Sir Ghost. The two of you are practically inseparable, but they are not with you now. Can you tell me what happened?”

Grimmchild stared at her, anxiety apparent in his face. The smaller bug held the mysterious iron stick in their claws.

“Do you know where Sir Ghost is?” She asked instead.

“Below…” He whispered the word.

Before she could even ask what he meant by that, Grimmchild looked up and towards the hall leading to the rest of the building.

“Sir Ghost?” He asked, sounding hopeful.

“What?”

“I smell them… they’re close!”

Hornet tensed, looking down the dark corridor; the dying lumifly lanterns cast far more shadows than light, but she could make out the figure of someone approaching.

Briefly, she caught the gleam of a blade.

“Stay behind me.” Hornet rose to her feet, withdrawing her needle and stepping in front of Grimmchild.

The figure stopped.

“Halt!” She snapped, pointing her weapon towards the shadow, “Take another step and I will cut you to pieces!”

Grimmchild peered around her shoulder, sniffing the air slightly and perking up. Before Hornet could stop him, the small bug darted forward.

“No, don’t-!” Hornet cried.

The small bug stopped at the shadow’s feet, “I know you! You smell like mist and mushrooms!”

A chuckle came from the figure, though they did not avert their gaze from Hornet’s weapon, “Well, this is certainly a surprise. You’ve grown quite a deal bigger in the short time I last saw you.”

She recognized the voice immediately. Though it had only been once, the memory of their encounter was clear in her memory.

“You are from the Howling Cliffs,” Hornet stated, relaxing her stance only a little, “The wandering explorer.”

“Indeed!” He nodded, “I remember you quite well, little warrior. Though I wish our meeting was under finer circumstances.”

She straightened her posture as the wandering bug came into the light. He no longer bore the mask that had protected him from the blow Hornet attempted to deal upon first meeting, and his stance was one of a bug more worn and tired, but he still seemed rather chipper all things considered.

“Last time I did not introduce myself to you,” He spoke with a smile in his tone, “You may call me Quirrel, miss sentry.”

༻❁༺


	10. Chapter Nine: Castigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Depressive thoughts and anxiety attacks

•⊰ Chapter Nine ⊱•

༺ • Castigation • ༻

Hollow Knight

────────⊹⊱❂⊰⊹────────

_Tell me. Tell me of the dreams that you hold dear._

Her light was a soft ember in the darkness.

_Always so quiet… why continue such a facade when I know you are anything but?_

Their throat felt tight. Their body was paralyzed. Her voice was soft and kind, but they refused to acknowledge it.

_Poor, poor vessel. Won’t you let me hear the voice I endowed upon you? Won’t you cry out a little longer?_

She was dead, it was impossible that She would be talking to them now. They truly had gone mad if they were unable to escape Her voice even now.

_You seem to have found yourself in quite unfortunate circumstances, stubborn little thing. Methinks it would be wise to return to your senses before they swing the axe down._

Let it come then if it will silence the voices.

The light flickered, dimming to nothing but an afterthought and leaving the vast sea of darkness. The Hollow Knight felt a shudder of cold run through their stiff limbs. They couldn’t see, but they felt something swim past them.

Something was wrong. 

**Return.**

Cold claws trailed down their spine. What was that?

**Return to whence you were born.**

There was a pressure in their chest, something pulling at the strings that kept the shade behind shell. coaxing them to break free from their confines.

_Stop it._

**Without unity.**

_Let me go._

**Lord of Shades.**

_Enough!_

They fought, pulling their rigid limbs away with as much force as they could muster. It was wasted endeavour, but their instincts pushed them to fight back. 

Whatever it was, it released them suddenly.

**Come back. Come back to us, sibling.**

The Hollow Knight woke with a jolt, prying open heavy eyelids and feeling a sharp pain over the crack in their shell and arm socket. As their vision adjusted, they tried to move and paused; they were tied with some sort of rope, restricting movement of their shoulders or arm.

Quickly trying to regain a sense of their position, the Hollow Knight glanced around the environment; if they had to guess, it had to be the remains of one of the homes on the eastern wing; old tattered curtains hung from the walls around them, broken furniture and glass were scattered across the floor, and standing right next to them was that sentry from before. The one called Tor and his winged associate. Worse still, there was another large city guard standing between the Hollow Knight and the door.

“Gather the rest of your soldiers,” Tor ordered, “This is an act that deserves an audience.”

“Damn it, Captain Tor, have you lost your mind?!” One of the guards snapped, visibly angry, “Laying harm upon a Great Knight, the Hollow Knight of all knights?! Such actions are equivalent to treason!”

“Are you to stand by and let _this_ act of treason slide by?!” The winged sentry argued.

“Watch your tongue, Sir Watts!”

The flying sentry, Watts, snarled, “Why should I?! The city watch has all but fallen apart now!”

“The King’s word is absolute-!”

“Open your eyes, you damned fool!” Tor argued, “We have all been forsaken by the Pale King! Look around us, Wyon! The evidence hangs around us in ruins! How many of our guards, our brothers and sisters in arms, have we pulled from the waters?! How many more will we find?!”

The city guard, Wyon, hesitated. Grief flashed over his face, but then he shook his head, “I have faith in our King. I always have and even now, I will believe in our King!”

Tor grunted, “Then you are a fool.”

Wyon tensed, a hand hovering over their nail with uncertainty of attacking a fellow guard, “What you are about to do will have catastrophic repercussions-”

Before the elite guard could speak further, Tor raised his weapon and struck the air. His powerful blow met the chest of the unprepared Wyon, cracking the armor and carapace beneath with a sickening _crunch_.

The Hollow Knight felt their throat go dry as Watts drove his own nail into the guard’s neck. A horrible, high-pitched sound came from Wyon’s mouth as he fell to his knees. With a thundering boom, the elite guard fell to the ground dead. Dead for being unable to lay a hand on a fellow comrade.

From within, the Hollow Knight felt their shade growing anxious. A dark and furious energy was building from within, but they were hesitant. To tap into that power, to access the void within for even a moment, could harm Father and His image. 

Twisting soul into spells was already a feared magic by the citizens of Hollownest, but the void was something unknown to anyone besides those within the Pale King’s closest circles. 

The Hollow Knight’s gaze locked on the fallen form of Wyon as grey blood stained the floor. Watts hovered in the air, Tor wiped his blade clean, both seemingly impassive to what they had just done.

_Damn it. They will have my head at this rate._

Shaking away the shock and keeping their head down, they scanned the room as best they could; propped up on the wall next to the disputing trio was their nail. It was only a few feet away, and if they were careful they could grab it. They pulled at the ropes, finding the binds tight enough to cut through flesh and shell.

With no weapon to cut the ropes, the idea of using the void was becoming more and more promising.

 _No one can know about the void._ As far as the world was to know, the Hollow Knight was merely a Great Knight who made the sacrifice to contain the Infection, not a creation of the Pale King and the darkness sleeping beneath the city.

“Watts, gather everyone to the Fountain Square,” Tor ordered, “It only seems a fitting execution block.”

The Hollow Knight felt a wave of fear roll through their body at the thought of execution. An execution in the Fountain Square of all places, a holy place with a crowning fountain built by the mind of Lurien. To die there would be to die under the gaze of Father.

Their shade was growing restless now, angry and desperate.

_No one can know what I can do with it._

A claw dug into the back of their torn cloak, pulling them up to their aching feet. Tor’s cold gaze met the Hollow Knight’s

_It would horrify them, make them question Him more than they do now._

“March now, cur.”

_I swore I wouldn’t._

Tor shoved the Hollow Knight forward. Watts hovered over them with his nail ready to pierce their body if needed.

“Move it!”

The Hollow Knight swallowed and squeezed their eyes shut briefly in desperate prayer.

_Father, I hope you can understand and forgive me for forsaking this promise._

From their empty arm socket, the ropes tore as the Hollow Knight pulled from the shadows they were born from into a tendril that ripped through the restraints. Tor let out a cry of shock while Watts distanced himself from such a sudden surprise.

“What are you?!” Watts cried.

The Hollow Knight paid them no attention, using the surprise to shove Tor back and grab at their nail with their free hand. Moving with the momentum, they brought their weapon up and struck the murderous traitor over his face.

He shrieked, falling to his knees as the Hollow Knight shoved past him. They tripped over Wyon’s body and swatted at Watts as he tried to dive for an attack. As strong as the flying sentry was, the Hollow Knight was stronger and shoved past the weak defense easily, stumbling out of the decaying suite and into the streets of the city.

Rain hit their shell the moment they stumbled outside and away from their brief prison. Their feet slid on the pavement, falling to their knees sharply and nearly falling over completely with only one arm to catch them.

_How can it be raining here?_

Around them, residents and other city elite guards turned to look at them. The small crowds looked shocked to see the Hollow Knight here, many confused and uneasy. Whispers mixed with the rain as the disgraced knight steadied themself.

“Is that the Hollow Knight?”

“No, it can’t be. They have been dead for an age…”

“I thought it was a myth…!”

“They look just like the monument…”

“Why are they here?”

The Hollow Knight pushed themself to a standing position, sheathing their nail across their back as Tor burst from the residence. One hand was pressed to their face as he glared at the lanky bug.

“C-Captain Tor?” One of the other elite guards stared at their commanding officer with shock.

“Murderer! Betrayer!” Tor roared, pointing to the Hollow Knight, “They’ve killed Captain Wyon and attacked me! Traitor! Traitor to this kingdom!”

_What?! No! He is the traitor, not I!_

“Ah… Aahh…!”

A choking, broken sound rang out from their mouth instead, something more similar to the shrieking of the trams coming to a stop rather than words.

In a moment of weakness, they had tried to speak, to deny such a blasphemous charge! But they stopped right as the words sat on their tongue. _Do not think. Do not speak. Do not hope. Do not feel._

The surrounding guards looked at the Hollow Knight, horrified at the sound and accusation. What remaining citizens frantically whispered amongst one another and backed away from the disgraced knight.

“Murderer!” Watts hovered next to his superior, “They are a murderer and a monster! They have conspired against the city guard and the King!”

The Hollow Knight backed away, shaking their head and raising an open palm in frantic peace. _You’re wrong… they’re lying!_

“Capture them!” Tor ordered, “Their treason shall be met with execution!”

_I’ve always been loyal to this kingdom!_

The other elite guards raised their weapons.

_He’s lying!_

“Don’t move!” One of the other guards shouted, “Drop your nail and surrender!”

“Gh… Gaahh…!” Another garbled sound escaped their throat in pleading protest, unable to defend themself with words, “Aaghh…!”

“Halt, or less you be slain!” Another guard was approaching them.

_Wait, no… no…!_

They were shaking, heart pounding and breathing frantic.

_Why…? Why is this happening?!_

More guards were enclosing in on them as the circle grew smaller, like hunters closing in on wounded prey.

 **_Don’t come any closer_ ** _!_

The shade grew angry again, and right as the first nail was about to strike, the Hollow Knight pulled again from that darkness. Their form briefly became a shadow that passed through their would-be aggressors and outside their ring of attack.

Shrieks rang out as the citizens backed away from the Hollow Knight as they rematerialized, horrified at the display of unknown magic before their eyes. The elite city guards were baffled, turning to the disgraced knight with fear and bewilderment.

The Hollow Knight did not give them another chance. They ran down the road as fast as they could manage, away from those who meant to kill them.

“After them!” Tor yelled, “Don’t let them escape!”

From behind them, the Hollow Knight heard a sharp whistle blown, the signal for whatever guards were close by that something was wrong. Not soon after, the sound began to echo throughout the wet streets and buildings.

They cursed silently, shoving through the frantic crowds of citizens trying to avoid the flooded canals and over fallen casks and shell carts, desperate to get away from certain death. They couldn’t hide, they couldn’t defend themselves from the accusations, they couldn’t lay a hand on those who vowed loyalty to the Pale King for risk of damning their soul more than it already was.

_If I can just make it back to the White Palace…! If I can make it that far-!_

The Hollow Knight stopped, hecticly looking around the unfamiliar city; the eastern wing of the capital was border unrecognizable in this state. The buildings had decayed, the lights that once illuminated the windows had gone out, dark gloom replacing the previous light and casting shadows. The rain and mist obscured the Hollow Knight’s vision, making it even more difficult to discern what was familiar.

_How long was I entombed in the Black Egg Temple? Just how much time has passed-?!_

Another trill of the whistle snapped them back to their senses, shouts and yells were becoming louder. The Hollow Knight’s eyes quickly fell upon a tilted sign on one of the streets, the symbols washed out but still familiar. Immediately, they recognized the lettering to be pointing towards the Fountain Square.

Not far beyond that would be the lift over the Ancient Basin. Beyond that would be the White Palace and Father. They remembered suddenly what Hornet had said again. That Father was gone. Would the Hollow Knight return to an empty palace with no sign of their King?

**_You’re wrong, Hornet. You’re wrong! I have faith in Him!_ **

Hornet… where was she in all this? Did she have any idea of the conflict raging in the city streets?

_Gods that watch over Hollownest, though she does not put her trust in you, please watch over Lady Hornet and protect her path from harm._

“Stop!” A sentry yelled through the pounding rain.

As the Hollow Knight took another step, something shot through the air and buried itself in the wall of the wall right next to them. A long javelin shook from the force, it’s point buried into the stone along with part of their cloak. They recoiled, but snapped forward and dashed towards the Fountain Square, the fabric of their mantle tearing away in a long strip. 

In the distance, they could hear the screaming and wails of the citizens of Hollownest. They saw, in very brief glimpses, the bugs that once thrived in this city were trying to pick through the rubble that was once their home. Corpses leaned against the rotting walls or floated in the murky waters. Whoever was left alive were urgently trying to escape the disintegrating ruins, crying and screaming at the tragedy unfolding before them.

Guilt wrapped around the Hollow Knight’s body and stole at their breath as they looked away from the calamity. 

_This is a nightmare. This must be some kind of bad dream._

From around a corner, another elite guard stepped before the Hollow Knight’s path. Their nail glinted through the rain as the guard struck out, giving the fleeing bug only a moment to retrieve their nail and block the attack.

The force was potent, and only having one arm to battle against it was hopeless. The elite city guard slammed his shield into the Hollow Knight’s back and they lost their footing, skidding across the pavement and slamming into the base of the Fountain Square’s monument. A short gasp of pain escaped their throat and they felt a ringing in the back of their head as they tried to get up again.

Shortly thereafter, the small group of elite city guards entered the area. Their nails were drawn, pointing right at the Hollow Knight.

“That’s far enough!” Captain Tor stepped through the crowd. The wound that they had inflicted had stopped bleeding, leaving an angry open scar on his face.

The Hollow Knight glared at Tor. _Good. I hope that it hurts._

Tor leveled his nail at them, “You’ve nowhere else to run to, Hollow Knight. Either come to your death quietly or turn this into a bloody affair!”

_Peace was never an option with you, you coward. You forswear the good word of our King whilst you dare don His armor and seal?!_

They rose to their feet, holding their nail in preparation for attack. Hazy spots darted over their vision and their injuries ached with new pain, but they didn’t care.

“Very well,” Captain Tor took up a new stance, “Then I shall personally send your soul to the vilest pits of hell!”

_May the Gods pass swift judgement upon your sins._

The Hollow Knight lunged forward, their nail meeting the captain’s with a loud clash of metal. Unlike before, they would show no mercy to this traitor. There would be no hesitation, as to let someone like Tor live would be an act of heresy.

If only they had enough soul to use magic, this duel would be much easier. Unfortunately, the Hollow Knight was left only with a blade to defend themselves.

No matter. Even if they only had a nail to fight with, they would do it. To insult the dignity of the Pale King would be met with bloody death. 

Around them, crowds of citizens had stopped to see what was going on. The remaining city guards expanded their circle, acting as a barricade whilst Tor slashed at the Hollow Knight.

“Betrayer!” Someone from the growing crowds shouted, “How dare forsake the good word of our King?!”

“Down with you heathens! Traitors to His rule!” Another bug screamed.

“Fools! We have been abandoned! Our loved ones lay dead in the streets because of the Pale King!”

“His word is absolute!”

“Lies! Lies! He has forsaken us!” More screaming echoed around the Hollow Knight, “He has left us to drown! We have all been betrayed!”

“You shall be hanged for your treasonous actions!”

“Death! Death to the Pale King and His court of perjurers!”

Arguing broke out somewhere the Hollow Knight couldn’t see. The circle of elite city guards and sentries spread out, desperately trying to hold back the furious citizens from breaking into the circle.

“Monster! Murderer!” Someone bellowed from around the circle of guards, “They have conspired with the Radiance! They were the one who let Her lay waste to our home!”

Their hand twitched at the words, but they did not try to search for who had said them.

“Hold thy tongue, traitor!” Someone else, another sentry with some ounce of loyalty to the Pale King left spoke over the noise, “The Hollow Knight is our sworn savior!”

“They vowed to keep Her light away!” Another citizen, a noble from the looks of it, cried out, “They swore to vanquish the Radiance, but the proof is all around us that we have been forsaken!”

“Be silent!” The same sentry snapped, “Or have you turned to heresy as well?!”

The Hollow Knight shook their head and quickly dodged Tor as he tried to swing at them, barely missing by an inch. All around them, the onlookers were growing more restless. Even the elite guards were starting to show struggle against holding them back.

_Focus._

They swung their blade, the force bouncing off of the captain’s own weapon and making him take a step backwards. Striking out, the Hollow Knight landed three blows to the captain’s shield.

**_Coward. Traitor. Hypocrite._ **

Anger was a growing fire in their mind, the longer they fought the bigger it became. They grew reckless, disregarding their own well-being if it meant putting a swift end to Captain Tor. In their pursuit of vengeance, they drove their nail into the shoulder armor of the traitorous captain with a _crack_.

He let out a snarl of pain, looking far worse for wear now.

The Hollow Knight raised their weapon again and struck it into the captain’s abdomen, another _crack_ ringing through the air. Tor fell to his knees, dropping his imposing nail.

**_Atone for your sins in the next world._ **

As they raised their blade again, a low, furious growl managed to worm it’s way from their throat. It carried no words, merely the same sound as before that accompanied the nail as it drove to find perch in their enemy.

Right as the point of the blade hit the captain’s throat, his hand shot forward and gripped the nail tightly, forcing it up. 

_What?_

Shocked gasped rippled through the crowds

“Wretched puppet,” the captain spat, tightening his grip on the nail. Grey blood spilled over his fingers and mixed with the rain below, “Foul demon, if I am to die here then I shalt drag you to hell with me!”

With strength that the Hollow Knight didn’t even think Tor was capable of at this point, the captain drove the edge of his shield right into their carapace.

Something inside shattered, they felt it as the force hurled them into the stones. They tried to roll with the blow, but having only one arm to steady themselves, the Hollow Knight ungracefully skidded onto their left side.

The onlookers shrieked at the sight of the Hollow Knight going down, a disjointed mix of fear and outrage. Tor fell to his knees, the wounds inflicted finally taking a toll on him. Immediately, Watts went to the side of his commander aided by another city guard.

“Captain, are you hurt?!” Watts cried.

“Merely a scratch…” He grunted, forcing himself to get up again.

With shaking fingers, the Hollow Knight tried to get up again. Deep within their carapace, they felt the ache of broken ribs. It burned, searing and blinding, horribly similar to Her light. Their palm slipped on the pavement and their head smacked against the stones with a dull thud. 

_Get up, damn it. Get up or be disgraced beneath his gaze-!_

The Hollow Knight’s eyes darted upwards, expecting to see the statue of the Pale King in the center of the fountain looking down on them with disappointment.

But… it wasn’t Father’s eyes that looked down on them. Their own eyes stared back at the Hollow Knight.

Before, there had been a monument built in the likeness of the Pale King. One of many created to honor Him. They had seen it with their own eyes on the few occasions they had walked through the city capitol. But now stood a statue carved in their perfect image, adorned in the Pale King’s seal and armor. They stood silently through the rain surrounded by three smaller statues meant to be the Dreamers.

_W…What is this…?_

Their gaze flickered over the plaque at the base;

_Memorial to the Hollow Knight_

_In the Black Vault far above,_

_Through its sacrifice Hollownest lasts eternal._

They read it again, over and over, unable to properly understand what they were looking at. The air in their lungs became cold needles, making it harder to breath suddenly.

_How long has this been here?_

Had Father built this after they were sealed away? They remembered… a very long time ago, they were ordered to stand completely still so that Lurien could sketch a likeness of them. Father had said it was for statues in the White Palace though, as all the Great Knights had statues carved to honor them. 

When had He ordered for this monument to stand in the Fountain Square? Surely it had been one of Lurien’s commissions, and it really was a sight to behold. How long had this stood in the heart of the city? Had the empty eyes of their reflection watched as the Infection took root once more? How many prayed to this monument when Her light threatened to consume everything?

They blinked, the grey spots from before growing more and more frequent. The Hollow Knight’s eyes burned as they stared at the monument. A beautiful and permanent testament to their failure. To the knight that entered bravely into the Black Egg Temple to battle the Radiance and save Hollownest, rather than the broken, flawed scrap of shell and shade they were now.

From behind the Hollow Knight, they heard Tor getting up again. They craned their neck just enough to see the captain pick up their nail. The captain eyed them, expecting them to make a move. Instinctually, they wanted to. But all of a sudden they felt exhausted, unable to move even a little. 

“Finally given up?” He held his nail by his weapon by his side.

The Hollow Knight watched Tor, their nail just inches away from their grasp. They could reach for it.

_I can’t…_

Their head fell back against the stones, rain streaming down their horns and into their eyes. From behind them, they heard Tor take another step towards the Hollow Knight’s collapsed body. Perhaps the crowds and sentries were yelling, but now all they could focus on was the pounding of the city’s tears against the rooftops and roads.

 _I can’t fight anymore… it hurts too much._ Someone such as them, disgraced and a traitor, was befitting to such an ironic death by their own monument.

“Very well,” He said, raising his nail towards the sky, “I will allow you a moment to pray to the gods for mercy.”

They stared at the base of the fountain, already feeling more dead than alive. Much like before, they swore they could see the gazes of Father standing amongst the spirits. All those that the Hollow Knight had failed to protect, who prayed to them for salvation, waiting for them to atone for their sins.

_Forgive me, Father. May the Gods show judgement swiftly, and my death atone for the sins I’ve committed._

They heard the air shriek as the nail swung through the air.

_Hornet… please be safe._

As they thought of their final words, they could’ve sworn that they heard over the sound of rain a reeling of threads.

“Death Nail Strike!”

There came a slicing of flesh followed by a scream. Something spun through the air, landing straight into the ground a breath away from the Hollow Knight’s face. Immediately, they flinched. In the rough reflection of the nail, they could see a figure pushing through the crowds.

Next to them, a steady hand was on their shoulder. They looked up into the face of a stranger pillbug. Their gaze was stern but had an air to friendliness that cut through the gloom.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

The Hollow Knight did not respond and the pillbug pulled at their arm, helping them sit upright.

Tor’s body was on the ground, grey blood spreading over the road in dark floods. Standing over him was a much smaller, much more welcome figure. One adorned in the crimson of Deepnest and holding a balanced weapon, prepared to fight as per usual.

_Hornet._

༻❁༺

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord this was a really long chapter to write.  
> And we're just at the beginning 8^)
> 
> Music for this chapter: Sealed Vessel theme  
> Hakyoku no Zenchou: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NnSPA-M6AI
> 
> A Fierce Battle with Witches: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ma9DE6Sc48
> 
> Shriek's Tale: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NoNoFOXy94M
> 
> You don't have to listen to these tracks while reading this if you don't want to, these are just what I was jamming out to while writing the chapter. I'd definitely like to add more music links to these chapters, but let me know what you think.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, see you next week!


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